


Game, Set, Match

by Xrost



Series: Slytherin Games [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 07:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 73,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11271333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xrost/pseuds/Xrost
Summary: The Weasley twins are not the only ones with pranks up their sleeves. How will they fare against bored Slytherins?





	1. Chapter 1

****

It was study hour in the Great Hall when Millicent showed Pansy her new trick.

"It's quite handy, actually," she said as students studied in a frenzy around them.

"Handy for what?" asked Pansy in a tone of deep disbelief.

Millicent pondered this question. "Information gathering," she suggested finally, testing the notion.

Pansy scoffed a little as though she did not think that Hogwarts held the type of people worthy of being spied on. Millicent quite liked this attitude on her. It was one of the reasons that she and Pansy were such good friends, though certainly not the main reason.

"Well," she said. "We could attempt blackmail with it."

Pansy merely scoffed again, and Millicent realised that the only people who had secrets that they would pay to conceal were Slytherins. Slytherins were the only people who could afford to pay to conceal secrets as well, and they couldn't blackmail Slytherins. The only thing that kept them safe from the blackmail of other Slytherins was an unspoken truce that existed between them.

"Perhaps it is useless then," mused Millicent pensively. "I had hoped it would have been fun."

"I don't see how," said Pansy dismissively as she ran her thumb across her glossy lower lip, the picture of bored beauty. "And anyhow you couldn't use it today. No one will neglect their studies to toss notes to one another."

Millicent shrugged wryly; just as someone neglected their studies to toss a note to someone else. Of course, they had just discussed how useless the trick was, but she flicked her wand without thinking and the note veered around in a gentle arc to land on the table in front of her, looking as though it had been intended for her all along. Pansy creased her nose at her friend's determination to be childish but she did lean towards the note as Millicent looked around to figure out who the sender had been.

Her eyes landed on the Weasley twins up the back of the Hall. Both of them looked as bright red as their hair for once, and were staring at her in horror. She raised her eyebrows at them to show that she was stunned that they had sent her a note and then looked back down at it.

She was not stunned, of course. The Weasley twins were the ones most likely, if one were to think about it for even an instant, to toss notes during study time. Especially only a week before exams.

Pansy took the note and began unfurling it from its paper plane shape when Millicent had taken too long, so Millicent caught the edge of it and pressed it flat on the table between them so that they both could see.

"Probably something stupid like the ingredients for pranks, or ridiculous Quidditch related feints," said Pansy in her usual tone of deep disdain.

"Mhf," said Millicent who rather agreed and was already bored with the prospect of reading what had to be a very dully scripted missive. But, she was in study Hall. The only other option was to study. Well, actually, the other option was to exchange nasty gossip with Pansy, but they did that so often that the note seemed more interesting.

_Hey Gorgeous,_ said the note. _Next Yule Ball coming up. You and me, how 'bout it?_

"I should go right over there and slap them," said Pansy. "That'd be funny. I wonder how they'd explain to their friends that they'd asked me out?"

Casting a speculative look across at the still beet-red Weasley boys, Millicent toyed with the top button on the collar of her shirt. "I don't think they both sent the letter," she said. "And if you slapped them, who'd care? You're pretty enough. People would see what had snagged them."

"Then I was right," said Pansy in satisfaction. "This whole thing is stupid and boring and there's no point in snatching other people's notes out of the air."

"There wouldn't be," agreed Millicent contentedly. "If you'd been the one to snatch it. But consider the fact that they think they accidentally sent this note to me."

Pansy stared at her and then snuffled into her jumper sleeve. Then snorted. Then laughed. It was perhaps lucky that Millicent had never deceived herself about her looks. She knew that her eyes were too narrow and could at best be described as mud-brown, and that her hair wasn't silky and that her mouth was too severe.

"Hm-mm," she murmured in the placid tone she always fell into right before the opportunity to be terribly cruel came up.

"Are you going to slap them?" asked Pansy reverently. "You can hit so much harder than I can."

Millicent gave her a flat look. "Pansy, when a boy asks a girl out, the girl doesn't slap him." She paused to shoot a pensive look at the twins and said sweetly, "She says yes."

And Pansy almost fell off her chair laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

It worked out well for the girls that the Weasley twins approached them after study hour. They were shoving one another and whispering; and they no longer looked mortified, only terribly amused.

"Bulstrode," said one of them. Neither Pansy nor Millicent bothered to hazard a guess as to which one had spoken.

Millicent switched on a megawatt smile that Pansy had assured her would shrivel the twins in their tracks. "Yes," she said, trying to inject as much yearning delight into her tone as possible. The subject matter at hand was so distasteful that she pretended to be accepting an invitation to a tour of Honeydukes instead. "I would _love_ to go to the Yule ball with you." From the spluttering gasp at the end of the hall it was apparent that her voice was carrying as far as she hoped it would.

Both twins froze for a bare instant before hurrying across the remaining metres to Millicent's side, making frantic motions for her to hush. Considering that they were already accumulating a growing audience of interested Slytherins and Gryffindors, it was a matter of too little too late.

Millicent tilted her head at the twins before deliberately twisting a lock of hair around her finger, smiling in a manner that she hoped looked coy. Coy, Pansy had assured her, was an immensely desirable look on pretty witches and a terribly unattractive look on ugly ones. From the way that both twins' complexions dropped to an unhealthy pasty white, it seemed that she was right.

"Look," whispered the closest twin, shuffling forward whilst looking terrified that Millicent might get it into her head to paw him. Millicent almost shuddered herself at that unsavoury notion. A Gryffindor, a Weasley, a freckled carrot-top for Merlin's sake. She might not have been pretty, but she wasn't desperate. "It was a mistake, okay?"

Twirling her hair a little more, she gave the twin a look of blank incomprehension. As well she might. Notes always went to the correct recipient; always. It wasn't like the Floo Network where you could choke out the wrong name and accidentally toss a note to someone who merely _sounded_ like Millicent Bulstrode.

"Look the note…" said the twin, still in a quiet hiss.

Millicent smiled again, clutching her hands in front of herself. "Yes." Her voice coming out breathlessly happy even surprised her. "Thank you. I would _love_ to go with you."

She could hear a strangled sound somewhere behind her but ignored it largely because she knew that it would be Pansy trying to smother her laughter with her fists; and if she turned towards it she wouldn't be able to fix the Weasley clones with doe-like eyes and they might escape.

Trying to turn on the softly blushing, radiantly glowing from the inside out look that Pansy had given her a two minute crash-course in and had pronounced 'ghastly on more levels than one', Millicent lay down the final card that she had stashed up her sleeve, "My dress is pink," she said. One of the twin's mouths dropped open, the other became impossibly paler. "In case you needed to know. Corsages and all…"

The twins looked at one another. Millicent could almost see the thought processes flicking between them. A big, fat girl in pink; she would look like a pig.

Which, of course, was the point; and exactly why Millicent and Pansy had settled upon pink. Millicent had suggested elephant grey, but Pansy had said they needed a colour that would not fade into the background, so pig pink it was.

She felt an elbow push lightly into her side and glanced across quickly to see Pansy's smiling face bright red with suppressed laughter. Her way of telling her that pig pink had been a master-stroke of genius on her part.

"Ah," said the more vocal twin, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably and glancing shiftily around at the audience that still seemed loath to leave. "Look, let's go somewhere a bit more private to talk."

Millicent smiled brilliantly and batted her eyelashes. She had absolutely no experience batting her eyelashes, but Pansy had convinced her that this would probably work in her favour. It seemed that she was right. Both twins took a hasty step backwards.

"No, no," said one of them, almost speechless with panic. "We mean…not _private_ in that way…There's been a mistake…Can we talk somewhere where a million other people aren't listening?"

"She," said Pansy coolly. "Is not that sort of witch, mister."

Staring at the closest twin in avid interest, Millicent twirled her hair slowly and murmured, "Well, not on the first date…"

They barely made it back to the dungeons before collapsing in hysterics. As it was Pansy had to shove Millicent into the empty Potions classroom and the two sank to their knees, almost retching with the violence of their laughter.

"Oh, Merlin. The look on…" began Pansy before choking on the rest of the words.

The Weasley twins had not been nearly so clever in extricating themselves from their dilemma as they ought to have been. Fred had broken, throwing George to the proverbial wolves by declaring that it had been he who had sent the offending missive.

Gasping for breath against the Potions room door, Pansy smiled wickedly at Millicent. Her face was streaked with dust from the floor and tears from the laughter. "This is perfect. We have the name of the twin who sent the note. It means that we can lock him into a contract with you."

Trying to comb spider-web from a lock of her hair, Millicent creased her nose. "So he'll have to go to the Yule Ball with me?" she asked.

Pansy nodded happily.

"Gah," said Millicent. "What if I don't want to go with him?"

Reaching out a hand, Pansy slapped her; and, being Pansy, Millicent expected that she'd have a splotchy red hand-print on her shoulder come night. "For the greater good," she said. Somehow the greater good always meant Pansy's amusement; often Pansy's amusement was worth it.

Sighing, Millicent said, "I suppose you want to go to the library and study the laws regarding contracts attached to informal messages?"

Snorting, Pansy said, "Are you kidding? There's tonnes of time for that. I want to put ugly pink bows in your hair so that at dinner those horrible twins will think you're dressing up for them."

It would be a rather funny prank, so Millicent agreed and they headed for the Slytherin dorms. It hadn't occurred to either girl that the other Slytherins would not be at all understanding of the new game they were playing; though it became clear at once when they stepped into the Slytherin common room.

"Betrayal!" Draco cried, pointing a finger at Millicent as she stepped through the wall.

Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Zabini all studied her sadly.

"Treachery," said Draco, advancing on her with a finger still pointing. "Treachery and betrayal! With Gryffindors!"

"No," said Millicent placidly as Pansy crossed the room to curl up cat-like in the chair by the fireplace. "Only one of them it seems. I was disappointed that they did not come as a matching set too. I mean, what is the point of twins?"

"Exactly," agreed Draco before remembering that he was staging a much needed intervention. "I mean, no! You must cease and desist this Gryffindor courting immediately!"

Behind Draco, Pansy was smiling in blissful contentment. Pansy had always loved what she called 'Draco's little spats'. She often found ways of nurturing them to their full potential. When he had been attacked by a Hippogriff in third year, Pansy had been delighted to find that tears had a tendency to send him right over the edge into histrionics.

He had been less given to dramatics lately, but this spat was looking promising.

"I like my Gryffindor," said Millicent slowly, pressing a finger thoughtfully to her chin.

"Augh!" wailed Draco, slamming his hands down over his ears.

Pansy's smile slid from twenty watts to seventy watts without much perceptible jolt.

"He's so rugged,' said Millicent.

"Aiie!" shrieked Draco. He seemed to consider for a moment before going across to haul Crabbe up, pushing him forcibly by the shoulders until he stood before her. "Here," he said generously. "Crabbe is rugged."

Pansy sighed dramatically, "She likes the sort of rugged that she can beat up," she said.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco turned to look at Blaise and Theodore. Blaise could really only be described as exquisite, but Theodore might be described as rugged in a pinch. "Nott's rugged," he said stoutly.

"No, I'm not," Nott squeaked, staring at Millicent in alarm.

"Yes, you're Nott," Draco drawled in cruel glee. "Rugged Theodore Nott. There Millicent." He smiled at Millicent with the air of one presenting a pauper with a feast.

"Ghah," said Nott; looked at Millicent in fear and said, "Ghah," again.

"Oh, no," said Millicent. "I only like Quidditch players."

All eyes turned to Draco, who promptly flushed bright pink. "Ah," he said, taking a step back. But he was nothing if not resolved. "You shall have Marcus Flint," he declared. "And then you will have no use for those filthy twins."


	3. Chapter 3

Neither Millicent nor Pansy let their expressions betray them until they reached their dorm room. "That was brilliant," said Pansy, twirling in a blissful little dance that sent her skirt flying around her.

"So." The voice was cool with an edge to it that sounded forged from steel. Pansy and Millicent stopped smiling and turned to see Daphne Greengrass fold her arms across her chest. She was a lithe girl, with very little in the way of curves but her body was lightly muscled and her face was pretty in a coldly calculating sort of way. With the famous Greengrass honey blond locks, she turned heads wherever she went. "A Weasley, huh? You must be desperate." She let her sharp gaze slide across Millicent almost dismissively, disgust etched into the angular features of her face. "I can see why."

Pansy laughed, creasing her nose in distain. After a moment Daphne let her lips curl into a smile. "We're going to have a blast," she said, voice still cool but utterly determined. It was a closely guarded secret that the Slytherin girls were genuinely friends. Snipe as they might in public, in private they had fun. They weren't as protective as other Houses perhaps, but they were more sure of each other.

"Fetch Astoria." Millicent walked across to the dresser and lowered herself into the seat, pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she went. "We have work to do."

"Way ahead of you, sister," said Daphne, smiling as the door opened again and Tracey Davis led Daphne's younger sister in.

"Well," said Astoria, beaming around at the girls and clutching her bright pink make-up kit to her chest like a treasure. "Who needs me?"

She was delighted to find that Millicent was the one who wanted the make-over, seeing as Millicent had never wanted anything to do with beauty before.

"You won't regret it. It will be everything you've ever dreamed of and more," she bubbled happily, plucking vials and bottles from her kit and scrutinising them closely.

"So," said Tracey, running a hand through her jaw-length brown hair. "How did you do it? How did you trick the Weasel into asking you out?"

"Didn't," said Millicent smugly. "We hijacked his note; and the note just happened to be an invitation."

Daphne whistled. "With no recipient's name on it? You got lucky."

"Huhn," said Millicent.

"Greengrass," said Pansy authoritatively. "Break out the Witch Weekly. If Millie wants to keep her Weasel, she's going to need to know how to behave."

"Oh, you have a boyfriend. That's so sweet," said Astoria, flicking a powder brush across Millicent's nose. It tickled. "It's good you looked outside of Slytherin too. I mean, Slytherins have money, but what would you need with it? You have enough. And this way you can make him crawl. I think it's better to date below you. I always will."

"Astoria," said Daphne acidly. "You are twelve years old. As such you will not be dating anyone; above or below you. Unless you wish them to come to harm."

Astoria shrugged. "I wouldn't mind," she said. "So long as I got what I wanted out of them first."

A hard smile pulled at the corners of Daphne's mouth, but she crossed to the closet to pull out her Witch Weekly magazines before Astoria could see it. The Greengrasses were not a brood to be trifled with.

"Ta da!" Astoria pulled back and spun the chair Millicent was sitting on around so that she was facing the dresser mirror. "Look at you, you look so beautiful!"

Millicent blinked. The face in the mirror was a prettier face by far than the one she woke up to each morning. Still not pretty; not quite, but prettier. It was as though Astoria had painted someone new onto Millicent and banished the old her completely. "No," she said and was grateful that her voice came out sure and strong, like hers. "This isn't right."

Astoria stared at her, her mouth dropping open in dismay. "I can't do any better," she said. "That's as beautiful as you can get."

Pansy laughed and Daphne leant forward with a sharp smile. "Wipe it off," she said. "Do it over. We want fat girl make-up."

Letting out a gasp of disgusted alarm, Astoria's gaze flew back to Millicent. She let her mouth curl at the corners and watched in interest as the prettier face in the mirror smiled coldly.

"I…I don't _have_ fat girl make-up," Astoria stammered, packing her things back into her kit quickly. "Why would I? What a terrible thing to have…"

"Astie," said Daphne. "Break it out. We know you have it."

Astoria deflated and began pulling things from her kit again, shoulders slumped dejectedly. "Think of how pretty you could be though," she begged, but Millicent was adamant.

Ron was buttering his dinner roll when the group of Slytherin girls walked in. "Ghah."

Fred glanced across at him before his gaze went to the roll Ron had dropped into his glass of pumpkin juice. "What?"

Harry turned to see what the fuss was about and then turned back just as quickly. "Oh wow," he said quietly.

Ron shuddered, avoided his brother's gaze and muttered, "Don't look now, but Bulstrode just walked in."

"Don't rub it in," moaned George, folding his arms across the table and burying his face in them. He'd been lolling around and moaning about his woeful fate for most of the day, and his twin had given up on consoling him though he had not quite given up on laughing at his misfortune.

Fred turned in his seat to see what had disrupted Ron and Harry so much. "Oh, man," he said, voice thin with an anxiety that only George could pick up on. "George, she's totally decked out."

"I can't believe you got me into this," whined George.

Someone stood up so fast that they upset a goblet. "I can't believe either of you."

George chanced raising his head to see a furious looking Hermione.

"I hope she tears your eyes out for teasing her like this – though, knowing Millicent Bulstrode, she'll aim _lower_ ," she spat before sweeping up her books and leaving in a flurry of robes.

"What? Hermione!" Ron called after her.

Ginny stood up too. "George," she said gently. "You're my brother and I love you; but I don't think you realise how much something like this could crush a girl, especially one like Bulstrode. I really hope that she does beat you around the head for doing something like this to her. If she doesn't, _I_ will have to. And I'd rather it be her."

"Uhm…" said George. "Thanks, Gin, but…"

"Oh, don't thank me," said Ginny, gathering her own books with the calm of a saint. "I have no qualms about beating my own brother. I'd rather it be her because she hits _harder_." Then she too was off.

"Girls are mad," said Ron, staring after them in bemusement. "That was a brilliant prank."

Fred sighed heavily. "It wasn't a prank," he said.

"And it wouldn't have been brilliant if it had been," added George in annoyance.

"You have to break it off with her," Lee Jordan hissed, leaning in. "And you have to do it now or you're not going to find someone else for the ball."

Peals of laughter washed across them from the Slytherin table and George winced, recognising Pansy's high-pitched giggle, guessing who she was with and trying not to think of the repulsive things they could be saying to make them laugh like that.

"And how do you suggest I do that?" he asked irritably.

"Merlin knows. Ask her to take a walk with you…"

George shuddered theatrically. "Actually…" he said straightening in his seat and turning his head.

When his gaze fell on Fred, his twin backed up quickly. "Oh, no. Whatever it is; you're on your own."

"You got us into this, you can get us out," said George. "How you managed to bollocks up a note to Angelina in the first place is beyond me. But you can fix it."

Fred creased his nose. "Or you'll tell the Slytherin cow that I sent the note?" he guessed.

"Or you'll be the one going to ball with her," corrected George.

Fred laughed shortly. "Okay, okay, I'll sort her out."

"And don't be too cruel," said George. He shivered again and said in a lower voice, "For my sake. I don't want Gin or Bulstrode bearing fiery vengeance down upon me. Especially Gin. Bulstrode may hit harder than her but I'm sure she has no imagination to speak of and Ginny's certainly not lacking in that department."

The unimaginative Millicent Bulstrode was at that moment in time hatching plans with Pansy. The fact that she was quite sure the twin that had turned to look at her new make-over was not the right twin (he hadn't tried to gouge his eyes out immediately afterwards at least) was a set-back, but a minor one. "We need to figure out a way to tell the difference between them," Pansy whispered. "They're crafty; we need to make sure we can handle anything they can come up with. Including them trying to match us off with the wrong one."

"Already taken care of," said Millicent easily, reaching for another bun.

"How so?" asked Pansy.

"I can tell them apart. Not by voices, but in looks…"

"Giggle," ordered Pansy and both girls broke into fits of laughter.

Millicent counted to five before she stopped laughing. This was nothing new for them. They were well aware that people under-estimated them, thinking that they were just a couple of caustic, gossipy girls. It wasn't difficult to feed the image; and it was well worth it to keep Professors off their backs. Now there was the added bonus that the giggling would be making one of the twins horribly self-conscious if he suspected any romantic innuendo to be behind it. Millicent hoped unkindly that he did.

"You can tell them apart?" Pansy demanded as she too stopped giggling.

"They have different freckle patterns," said Millicent. "I bought photos of them off Colin Creevey and studied them while you were trying to transfigure more bows on my dress."

"Oh, that was clever," said Pansy.

"Clever? It was ingenious," replied Millicent flatly.

"Giggle," said Pansy. They did. Pansy cut her laughter off within moments. "Oh," she said, turning to Millicent with eyes glowing in delight. "Oh, you are a genius! Oh!"

Millicent's mouth pulled into a wickedly amused smile. "It just occurred to you that Colin Creevey is in Gryffindor, huh?"

"Yes, I'm obviously slow, Oh enlightened one. Oh, he's going to go and tell those nasty twins that you _paid_ for photos of them. They will _never_ venture out from under their beds again. I'm so happy!"

"Mm-hmm." The wicked smile hovered across Millicent's features still as she watched the twins' backs. "And they think that they're the school pranksters. This'll learn them."


	4. Chapter 4

The twin that was most probably George left the Great Hall without once looking in Millicent's direction, which made Pansy very sad.

"It's not a problem, Parkinson," Millicent assured her as the Slytherin girls headed back to the dungeons. "You're treating this like a sprint when it has the potential to be a marathon."

"As though you have any experience with either," said Daphne scathingly before she and Tracey giggled and high-fived.

It was funny enough, but Millicent elbowed Daphne in the windpipe out of principle. Then she and Pansy giggled and high-fived. When seen in a certain light there probably was a reason that people thought the Slytherin girls were all bitches.

Daphne took the elbowing with good spirits, reaching out to yank at a chunk of Millicent's hair and calling her a name that her mother would certainly not approve of before flouncing off with Tracey.

It worked well for Millicent, really. She put a hand up to pat her hair tentatively. "She wrecked my bow!" she cried.

"It's not that bad," said Pansy dismissively, evidently still annoyed that their torture twin had not been exposed to the hideous make-up.

"It is!" wailed Millicent, making very sure that all of the students leaving the Great Hall could hear her. "I can feel it! She knew I had to look beautiful tonight too!"

Evidently Pansy wasn't really sure where they were going with this display because she frowned and wasn't particularly soothing when she said, "We can go back to our dorm and fix it."

"I'm not walking through the school like this!" Millicent wailed, heading for the closest bathrooms. "He could see me!"

"How could he see you?" Pansy exclaimed in irritation. "The dungeons don't exactly lead through Gryffindor-rich territory!"

Millicent wondered whether she was being deliberately obtuse or was too distraught over the make-up failure to realise that the situation was more than salvageable. "He could come down to the dungeons," she said. And then more quietly as though she were embarrassed, added, "To say goodnight. Couldn't he?"

Pansy scowled at her and then sighed, shoulders drooping as though she thought that Millicent was being a lunatic. "Sure," she said without any conviction. "I mean, why not? It's full moon. Stranger things have happened on the full moon."

Millicent nodded, letting out a smile and thinking of chocolate in the hopes that it would make the smile more genuine. She held open the bathroom door, motioning Pansy in.

Pansy drew back with an expression of horror. "Not those bathrooms!" she snapped. "Those bathrooms are infested with Gryffindors!" It was the perfect pitch to carry and Pansy's voice was infused with just the right amount of disgust. It couldn't have been better if Millicent had coached her.

Millicent let her smile sharpen at the corners, turning wicked just long enough for Pansy to realise she had a plan. "I'm dating a Gryffindor now, Pansy," she said plaintively. "You _can't_ talk about them that way."

Rolling her eyes, Pansy stepped past Millicent and walked into the girl's bathrooms. Even the sharp tap of her shoes against the stone floors sounded judgemental. She had been right; when Millicent followed Pansy into the bathrooms she found three Gryffindor girls glaring at her from the basins.

"Oh Merlin, it's like a nest of them," said Pansy, pulling Millicent across to the mirrors to help fix her hair.

"That's not going to help," said Angelina Johnson. She was standing with one of the other Chasers, who might have been called Katie while Lavender Brown packed her Witch Weekly back into her purse quickly.

Pansy shot them a hard look over her shoulder, her fingers brushing quickly and expertly through the tangles in Millicent's hair as she readjusted the bow. "Did we ask for your opinion?"

Angelina straightened and smiled coldly. "I'm going to give it. You can do what you want with your hair, Bulstrode; George is still going to stand you up come the Ball."

Millicent was facing the Gryffindors and was taller than Pansy so she could see them as well as they could see her. "Why would you say that?" she asked, tilting her head and frowning in what she hoped passed as bemusement. She let her eyes narrow down. "Did George _tell_ you he was going to stand me up?"

"No," said Angelina, her voice less harsh. She glanced at Katie quickly before going on, "But I mean…"

Millicent let her voice rise into high-pitched hysteria. "You mean what? Pansy, what is she saying?"

"I don't know," said Pansy slowly, her eyes dark as she turned to glare at the two Chasers. "What are you saying, Johnson? If the Weasley didn't tell you he was going to stand Milly up then _why_ would you think it?"

"Yes, why?" cried Millicent trying her best to sound distressed. When Angelina and Katie both looked horrified, she thought that it was probably working. They were rather cornered now and, while a Slytherin wouldn't think twice about telling someone that they were too fat to be considered an appropriate date for someone like the Weasley twins, Gryffindors were not so callous.

"We just…" said Katie, darting an anxious look at Angelina. "He's never said he liked you, that's all."

"Oh," said Millicent, less hysterically. She pursed her lips and nodded to herself. "I like the quiet, mysterious types."

Angelina and Katie exchanged another look before evidently deciding that they were not going anywhere near that topic again. With non-committal murmurs, they went back to touching up their lip-gloss.

"Okay, your hair's fine," said Pansy.

They were done in the bathrooms and Millicent really didn't care what her hair looked like but she made a show of studying it from every angle in the mirror. "It's so sophisticated," she said, which it wasn't. It looked as though she'd been attacked by a bunch of first years who were only used to doing their dolls' hair and had more bows than common sense.

"Yeah, yeah," said Pansy, who wasn't known for her supportive nature even at the best of times. "Let's go."

She had the sense to wait until they were safely in their dorm with Daphne and Tracey again before asking, "What was that?"

Shrugging, Millicent pulled the horrible bows from her hair. "Not right now, but eventually," she said. "The Weasley clones are going to get over their horror at the predicament that they're in long enough to realise that someone got them into said situation. _That_ was the insurance we have against them suspecting us. Even if those Chasers don't tell them about that exchange, Lavender Brown will. She's the most gossipy gossip to ever grace this green earth."

Pansy nodded. "Nice."

"Does it strike you as odd," asked Tracey. "That the pranks you play on people usually involve you making utter fools of yourselves?"

Pansy snorted. "They're the best kind," she said. "Then no one knows we're pranking and we can feel free to do it again and again on bigger and bigger scales."

"Mm-hm," agreed Millicent. "Those Weasley's don't know anything. They're only sixteen and everyone already knows not to trust them in any way. When we're a hundred we'll still be pranking people."

"Amateurs," said Pansy in exasperated good-humour. "Their pranking career already over because they just had to have the glory."

Daphne shook her head. "You guys are way too invested," she said. "But have you considered that a Hogsmeade weekend is coming up soon?"

Millicent frowned, trying to remember whether they'd made plans to go. "Do we have something to get from there?"

Daphne laughed and Tracey rolled her eyes at them. "Honestly," she said. "Stay on the ball. Couples go to Hogsmeade. You know, together. As couples."

Pansy squealed in delight and Millicent wondered blandly whether there was any way in which she could get out of spending her weekend with a terribly dull, freckled Weasley.


	5. Chapter 5

"This is a nightmare!" Fred was pacing the space between his and George's bed with his hands clasped behind his back. "How did it happen? Will it happen again?"

They had been through this once already, but George suspected that Fred was trying to put off dumping Bulstrode as long as possible and had struck on this as the perfect way to draw out the inevitable. Actually, George suspected that Fred was trying to get out of dumping Bulstrode altogether. He knew well enough from past experience that if he made George feel guilty enough George would change his mind and going off to dump Bulstrode himself. If throwing a minor panic attack didn't work, Fred was likely to start suggesting the cruellest ways possible to dump Bulstrode so as to activate George's famous sympathy streak.

Lee leant forward on his bed. "What potion had you tested out in the morning?" he asked. "Did you mix any of the things you were testing?"

"Probably," said Fred, nodding to himself as he walked. "If this happens again, we're going to have to consider it a possible side-effect of the Fever Fudge's."

"Did you have the Fever Fudge's?" George asked.

"Can't remember." For a time the pacing continued and the swish of robes was the only sound in the room. "A greeting," Fred said finally. "That's the way of it. It's only three words to say, 'To Angelina Johnson'. We need to make sure we write greetings."

"Stop saying 'we'," said George, rolling onto his back on his bed and flicking over a page in his 'Properties of the Toadstool in Potion-making' text. " _You_ need to start writing greetings, just as _you_ need to go and fix this thing with Bulstrode."

With a moan of unhappiness, Fred threw himself down on the nearest bed. Unfortunately it was George's bed, and the tome he was holding smacked down into his nose as Fred's elbow sank into his ribs. With a squeak of pain, George pushed the textbook off himself and wriggled away from Fred's sharp elbows.

"Georgie, look," said Fred in his business tone.

Grinning wryly, George reached out an arm and shoved Fred, hard. "Off my bed. And forget appealing to my better nature. You crawled yourself into this one so dig yourself out."

He hadn't been watching the note that morning, so he hadn't seen it veer off the course Fred had intended for it. He had heard his twin swear in alarm and had looked up to see the note fall on Bulstrode's desk. One look at Fred's ashen face had been enough to tell him that the note had been meant to go to Angelina.

Then when Bulstrode had been so overbearingly insistent that she would go to the Yule Ball, Fred had told her that George had sent the note.

"Think fast," he whispered before leaving George to deal with Bulstrode and Parkinson. They may have been Slytherin, and Bulstrode may have been incredibly offensive to have agreed to a date without even knowing which twin she was dating, but George had not been brought up to dump girls in the middle of crowded school halls with everyone watching intently.

"If only the note had gone to Parkinson," Fred said now, not moving off George's bed. He had an arm draped melodramatically over his eyes and seemed quite intent on staying right where he was.

"How would that help? She's more annoying than Bulstrode." She was. She spoke too loudly, as though she thought that the world needed to hear what she had to say; and none of it was worth listening to.

"But she's good-looking at least," Fred pointed out. "Her nose is a bit, you know, but the rest's okay. She wouldn't have been so desperate that she'd have said yes to the invitation."

Lee made a sound of assent, nodding slowly. "Even if she did, she's nowhere near as scary as Bulstrode. It would be easy to dump her."

"You are hit with bludgers on a regular basis," said George. "Go and break up with Bulstrode. It can't be any worse."

"Yes!" exclaimed Fred, sitting up at once. "It _can't_ be worse, George! It can't."

"That's why you're going to do it." George was aware that in this twinship chain, he was the weakest link. It didn't bother him unduly. Fred tended to get carried away with bigger pictures while George considered the little details – like people's feelings, or possible Azkaban stays. Both parts were needed and they worked well together, but sometimes George thought that a little responsibility wouldn't hurt Fred.

It might have even worked this time but, before Fred had the chance to change his mind, Angelina walked in dragging Colin Creevey along by the shirt collar. "Right then," she said in that abrupt and rather terrifying manner she sometimes possessed. "Tell them what you told me. Go on."

"I didn't mean any harm!" squeaked Creevey, eyes wide. He was shaking under his robes and George suspected that Angelina had used her dressing-down-the-Quidditch-players voice on him. Her tone seemed to layer darkness, and sometimes George considered looking up Angelina's family history to see whether she was part-Dementor. She pushed Creevey forward and said his name in an ink-black tone that might have suited the Daughter of Death. "She paid me, see?" Creevey choked out. "I didn't know I wasn't meant to. And they were artistic! They were portraits, but they were the kind that could be hung on a wall and talked about. They had soul…"

He wasn't making sense, but George didn't interrupt because the shaky little voice was mesmerising. Fred didn't interrupt either, probably because listening to this got him out of breaking it off with Bulstrode, at least for now.

Angelina tapped her foot against the flagstone floor. "What were they of, Creevey?"

Creevey's voice was smaller still; like an ice-cube melting under the collective glare of the room. "Quidditch players."

"Which ones?" As impatient as Angelina sounded, there was an element of amusement to her tone. George doubted that Fred would have bothered dating her at all if she hadn't had a sense of humour; even if hers was as dark as blood.

Colin closed his eyes and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. "I sold some of my photos…to Millicent Bulstrode." His lips were trembling in time with his knees, making his teeth chatter as he spoke. "They were of…"

"Oh, holy Merlin, no!" George wailed. He didn't have to consider what photos Creevey might have had of them. All of the times he'd gotten under-foot; in the change-rooms after Quidditch practice, in the common room, out on the Quidditch pitch, all of it tumbled through his head like a horror montage sent straight from hell.

"Which ones?" Fred's voice sounded like he'd been breathing in arid dust all day.

When it looked as though Colin was about to reel off a list of all the ones that the twins didn't care about, Fred held up a hand. "Were the half-naked shower ones in there? That's all I ask."

Looking like a gazelle among lions, Creevey nodded.

A gentle calm came across George. There was nothing left to fear; the worst that could happen had. "I'm retreating under my bed now," he said. Logically it was the only choice. "I'll come out when I no longer wish I were dead." Probably sometime after the Yule Ball, unless Fred actually managed to break up with Bulstrode.

"Oh, no, no, no," exclaimed Angelina, abandoning her torture of Creevey to step forward.

"Not necessary, George," Lee was saying, his voice too rapid.

Evidently they both remembered first year too vividly. George was already sliding into the cavity under his bed. Fred could sort this out. It was well past Fred's turn to sort something out.

"Merlin, seriously? We're never going to get him out of there," Lee whined.

"He is so melodramatic…" Angelina began, but the Cocooning Charm was already taking effect, drawing in snuggly to George and muffling any outside noise.


	6. Chapter 6

"Rise and shine, Millie!"

With an irate grunt, Millicent rolled over, pulling her pillow over her head. Pansy was not to be out-done so easily. Crawling onto the bed, she jabbed at Millicent with painfully sharp fingers.

"We need to get you out of bed and into make-up!"

"It's too early," grumbled Millicent. "It's too early and you're too happy."

Pansy bounced up and down on the bed in delight. "Make-up and then breakfast. The freckled wonder is going to freak!"

"You sound like a Hufflepuff."

Giving up on the soft approach, Pansy caught a chunk of Millicent's hair and tried to drag her out of bed. With a yelp of pain, Millicent reached out and slapped her across the face. She didn't bother to be gentle but Pansy fell back, laughing and clutching her cheek.

"You cow!"

Using her arms to lever herself into a sitting position, Millicent looked down at Pansy. "I would kill my mother if she tried to come between me and sleep. My own _mother_ , Pansy."

Pulling one of her fluffy slippers off her foot, Pansy flung it at Millicent's head. "Don't even think you can use that scowl on me," she said waspishly. "You may terrorise the first years with it; but not me."

Had Millicent wanted to terrorise Pansy she would have revealed the name of her crush to all of Hogwarts rather than scowl menacingly, but she didn't say anything because Pansy could be a bit like Draco when things didn't go her way. And it was too early in the morning for that kind of a headache.

Daphne and Tracey had been sent on ahead to scout out the twin situation. When Pansy and a freshly made-up Millicent arrived, Tracey patted the seat by her. "One of the twins isn't here," she said, voice low, as Millicent sat beside her and Pansy sank into the next seat along. "Our sources say it's George missing, but it's hard to tell if that's true."

Pansy let out a low mewl of unhappiness and turned to stare forlornly at the Gryffindors.

Daphne cleared her throat and leant closer to them across the table. "Theo talked to Richie, who talked to some Abbott chick, who talked to Lavender Brown, who talked to that little camera kid…"

"Colin Creevey," Pansy supplied, still looking as though she had been robbed of a life-time of Christmas presents.

Daphne sniffed as though the name was inconsequential, and went on. "Turns out something went down last night. A bit fuzzy on the details but I think the twins were upset with Creevey for taking photos of them. Anyway, your Weasley ended up crawling under his bed and casting a Cocooning Spell…"

"Cocooning Charm," Tracey corrected, stirring her oats.

"Yeah," said Daphne. "So that's it. Do…uh…either of you know what a Cocooning Charm is? Just, we don't."

Shrugging her shoulders, Millicent glanced at Pansy. Pansy's brow was furrowed, giving her a slight pug look. Finally she shook her head.

"Please," said Millicent. "Don't say 'To the library'."

For a moment Pansy just chewed on her lower lip. With a sudden decisive nod of her head, she said, "To the library!"

Tracey moaned and began stuffing pumpkin pastries into her pockets. When Millicent didn't immediately do the same thing, she scowled at her. "Don't be thinking you can have some of mine, fatty."

Studying the Gryffindor table, Millicent shook her head. "This can still be fun," she said before standing up and heading for where Fred was sitting.

Angelina Johnson only had time to throw a warning pumpkin pastry at Fred's head before Millicent reached him. The mere notion of it made her nauseated, but she twined her arms around the Weasley's neck and quashed the urge to squeeze too tightly. "Good morning, gorgeous." A husky voice was not her speciality. She ended up sounding deranged, which probably wasn't a bad thing. Fred squeaked in fear. Even from her position behind him, Millicent could tell that every last scrap of colour had fled his face and his freckles were standing out like polka dots.

She was in the perfect position to kiss him on the cheek but, as hilarious as that would have been, it was too disgusting to contemplate. Instead she wriggled into the seat by him, using her bulk to physically shove Lee Jordan further down the bench. He made a rasping sound that might have indicated panic, or possibly annoyance. Millicent ignored him to focus on her Weasley. With her arm still wrapped around his shoulders, he was going nowhere fast.

"Oh Merlin, kill me," he whined, not even trying to mask the fact that he was frantically searching for an escape route. If the twins were just going to beg for death and freak out every time Millicent messed with them, this was going to get old real quick. Pansy might have been like a cat torturing a mouse; she was happy to watch her victims squirm and fight to get away without ever having a chance. Millicent preferred her victims to be smart. She still had every intention of winning, but it was no fun if it was a sure thing.

"Wow," she said, using the hand on the Weasley's shoulder to squeeze. "You're so strong."

"I'm Fred!" Panic twisted around each syllable of the proclamation, shouted so loudly that it reverberated around the Great Hall. It was unnecessary; the entire school was already watching them.

Smiling placidly, Millicent stroked Fred's hair. "My Georgie; such a prankster," she purred, and was disappointed to note that her voice seemed to be getting the hang of that husky thing. Then, because Pansy would love her forever, she leant in to kiss the repulsive carrot-top.

Overall, it was probably a relief that Angelina got her hand between them before Millicent connected. Chaser reflexes were something else.

"If you kiss my boyfriend," Angelina said and there was a steel to her manner that the twins lacked. "I will jump this table and take you down."

Millicent was used to scaring people into submission. It just made things easier. Now, though, she pushed Angelina's hand aside and smiled dreamily at Fred. "Would you like that? Because whenever Pansy and Daphne get into a pillow-fight, the guys get really…"

"Augh!" cried Fred, pulling away so sharply that he fell off the bench onto the floor.

Across at the Slytherin table, Pansy fell off her seat too. Like a well-trained auror, Tracey hit the floor by her before a moment had passed. Daphne climbed over the table, light as a cat, to join them. A high-pitched sound was coming off Pansy. Millicent knew it was laughter, but the Slytherin girls had acted fast enough. They must have been smothering Pansy or something, because it sounded as though she was choking.

"Those pillow-fights were meant to be a secret!" Daphne yelled and she and Tracey headed for the doors, struggling to drag a fighting Pansy with them. She would have been trying to stay in the Great Hall, but if she was going to ruin all of Millicent's hard work by laughing, she didn't deserve to.

Then Draco stamped his foot petulantly. His expression was storm grey, and his mood was so dark that the Great Hall was responding in kind; black clouds swirling in the ceiling above his head. Tracey had told Millicent that strong personalities could affect certain magical aspects of Hogwarts, but she hadn't thought it would work like this. Either way, if Draco was getting high-strung, wild dragons would not be able to drag Pansy from the room. "I never saw any pillow-fights," he wailed, looking as though every Slytherin present had betrayed him cruelly.

True to form, Pansy saw that Draco was getting his melodrama on and began thrashing wildly to get free. When she started biting, Daphne and Tracey shoved her aside.

"Why was I not allowed at the pillow-fighting arena?" Draco's voice was rising hysterically. He was probably going to tell his father about this.

Millicent sighed. This was going to get messy. The school thought that Pansy was angry with her for letting the pillow-fighting incident slip; Millicent just hoped that Pansy was keeping up with the situation now that she had Draco to entertain her.

Perhaps a moment passed before Pansy realised what was expected of her. With a sharp cry, she launched herself at Millicent, fists flailing.

"Give them pillows!" cried Draco.


	7. Chapter 7

It was much later in the day when Millicent limped into detention. She had a torn lip, her ribs still felt tender, and she'd spent most of the day sitting in classes with Tracey, while Pansy sat with Daphne and called rude things out at her when she thought she could get away with it.

Slytherin girls had resolve, so the fight had barely been pretend at all. They also had pride, so neither Pansy nor Millicent had wanted to come out as the loser and the fight had lasted far longer than necessary for its purpose. Millicent had won, of course, even with Pansy using Professor Flitwick's interruption to her full advantage.

It was in Professor Flitwick's Charms classroom that they were currently serving out their detention, each glaring at the other on occasion for good measure.

"Professor," said Millicent finally.

Flitwick looked up from the stack of papers he was grading, glasses sliding down his nose.

"You teach charms," Millicent pointed out. "So you should know what a Cocooning Charm is, right?"

Beaming, Flitwick nodded. "Used by parents mostly," he said. "Though it's slightly archaic now."

"But what is it?" asked Millicent.

"Ah," said Flitwick. "Well, it's a charm that's purpose is to make one feel safe and warm and secure. Once cast, it pulls a soft, silken material around the body; keeping its subject in light, happy thoughts until the charm is unwound."

Really, this was so much easier than reading dozens of books in the library. "How do you unwind the charm?"

"It needs to be unwound by the caster." Flitwick seemed to consider saying more but a shadow crossed his features and he shook his head.

"Or?" prompted Millicent.

"Dark magic," said Flitwick. "The Cocooning Charm cannot stand up to the Dark Arts."

"So if someone casts it on themselves," said Millicent. "They won't come out until they're hungry enough?"

At that Flitwick shook his head. "Like a creature in a cocoon, someone in a Cocooning Charm will not starve. They will be safe from their time inside and emerge when they are ready."

Millicent sucked on her split lip and considered her options.

"If I may, Miss Bulstrode," said Flitwick. "Perhaps Mr Weasley is not the wizard you need him to be. He may be funny and handsome…"

Millicent was seriously grateful that she didn't retch onto the flagstones at that incredibly false description.

"He is not as mature as many witches his age," he finished, looking anxious and very much out of his depth, especially with Millicent staring at him blankly. Evidently news of George's self-exile in cocoon had spread through the school already. Flitwick cleared his throat. "But I'm sure that this is something your head of house will discuss with you. It isn't usual for staff to get into…conversations about any student's Yule Ball partner, but with something that has been made so public. Well, it's very worrying."

Millicent put on the most hurt expression that she could muster without bursting into laughter. "I thought that it was good that it was public," she said, and would have inserted a trembling lip if she knew how to. "All of my other dates have wanted to keep our relationships secret, and Pansy's dates never do."

For a moment Flitwick took on the look of a stunned Garden Gnome. "Oh dear!" he squeaked finally. "Is that the time? Detention's over!" And then he fled.

Pansy and Millicent barely waited for the door to close before they started laughing. And once started, Millicent couldn't stop, even though she tore her lip open all over again.

"We are amazing," said Pansy finally, tone reverent as though she had passed the stage of mortal in her mind and now considered herself a god. "Straight up; we are the best things to ever walk the corridors of Hogwarts."

George did not emerge from his cocoon over the next few days. It might have made Pansy gloomy, but that was the beauty of twins. When one was absent, they could always torment the other. Fred was such a strange creature that Millicent got bored with teasing him in the first day. His general response really was to have a mental break-down and wail hysterically whilst rocking back and forth. Pansy found this hilarious and when Millicent was too disinterested to continue bothering him, Pansy took over. It wasn't all that hard. She'd just go up to Fred during meal times and lean in close, whispering messages that had supposedly come from Millicent. If Fred ever turned to stare at Millicent in abject horror – which, after the first few times, he didn't – she'd smile and lick her upper lip suggestively.

Shocked by this display, Draco covered Millicent's decollage in napkins and glared daggers at the Gryffindor table and at Fred in particular. Pansy looked as though all of her Christmases had come at once and she could die happy now; and that made Millicent a little less bored. She did like it when Pansy was happy, and not just because Pansy was a bit of a cow when she wasn't happy.

It couldn't go on, of course. Even Pansy would have gotten bored eventually; if Fred had not broken completely first. He showed up at the Slytherin common room entrance after curfew one night. Had Draco been the one to answer the insistent knocking, there would have probably been a duel. A very feeble duel with Draco being worried about hexes hitting his hair; but a duel none-the-less.

"A pity," Astoria said, when she showed up at the dorm-room door, yawning sleepily and clutching her stuffed hippogriff. "All witches should have wizards duel over them at least once in their lives." She and Vincent Crabbe had been the ones to open the door to Fred's knocking and Millicent hadn't heard anything more than muffled voices from downstairs.

"Astoria, you are twelve!" Daphne snapped at her. "There will be no duels over you."

"What does he want?" Tracey asked, sitting forward in bed and looking rumpled even with the covers up to her chin.

"He wants Millicent, obviously," said Astoria.

"Why?" asked Millicent.

"Well, he is your boyfriend," said Astoria, pursing her lips as though she thought that Millicent was being unreasonably dense. "I know if my boyfriend came looking for me at one in the morning, he'd want…"

"He'd want me to hex him inside out," said Daphne, glaring at her little sister darkly. "But as he doesn't exist, that is theoretical." She turned her gaze to Millicent, eyes narrowing in thought. "This isn't a good thing."

"Maybe he's actually fallen for you somehow," said Pansy. "Then you can crush his heart and cackle!"

"I doubt that's it," said Millicent, crawling out of bed. "Far more likely that he's here to break up with me."

"In the middle of the night?" asked Daphne doubtfully. "I'm more inclined to agree with Astoria, even though she's twelve and should know nothing of these matters." The last was directed at Astoria along with a harsh glare.

"What do you mean?" asked Millicent, frowning at them as she pulled her comfortable terry-cloth night-robe on.

Tracey muffled a giggle with her fist. "Booty call."

Both she and Daphne burst into laughter, while Pansy jumped out of bed and began transfiguring Millicent's night-robe into something silky, pink and tight.

Quelling the urge to shove her away, Millicent frowned at Daphne. "Why wouldn't he be here to break up with me in the middle of the night?" she asked. "It seems a fine time. There'd be less people around and…"

"And he knows he'd be giving you the impression that he was here for canoodling. No, he's here for sex," said Tracey, smiling smugly.

"He'd better not be!" Millicent exclaimed in alarm, wishing that Pansy wasn't transfiguring her robe quite so short.

"Uh-huh," agreed Daphne in cruel delight. "Gryffindors don't put out and everyone knows that fat girls do. I bet he figures he can have Angelina Johnson and you on the side and everyone will figure that George is the one who's having you and…"

"Please stop," said Millicent fervently. "If I vomit, I will aim at you."

The girls laughed again.

"You should definitely pash him," said Pansy. "And maybe get him undressed a little. Then we will use a Pensieve to broadcast his shame to the world!"

"What about my shame?" choked Millicent.

"He has those Quidditch muscles," said Astoria lazily. "I bet it would be nice to press on up against…"

"That is it! I am Scourgifying your mouth!" Daphne yelled, snatching up her wand and chasing her sister out into the hall. She would catch her; and Astoria probably wouldn't talk to them for days.

"Go, go," Pansy said, making sweeping gestures with her arms to get Millicent out of the dorm and down to Fred.

"I don't want to," said Millicent, cowering back against her bed.

In the end it wasn't her choice. Both Pansy and Tracey made dire threats that might have involved the Imperius curse, and hexes that would make Millicent loath the taste of Honeydukes, and she relented. She might have been able to hold her own against one of them, but not both.

If Fred made any sudden leaps at her, though, she was slamming him into the closest wall and claiming that she had been in fear for her maidenly honour.

Fred didn't make any leaps. He was twitchy and fidgety and Millicent thought that it was possible that he'd consumed an entire pot of the House-elves' strongest coffee before coming to the dungeons. Perhaps that was a Gryffindor form of Dutch-strength, she had thought and tried not to back into the corridor wall in horror.

Crabbe was a romantic at heart and he had stayed in the Slytherin common room, watching the corridor events avidly through the open dungeon doors, from his well-positioned seat. Millicent thought that Fred thought that Crabbe was the appointed chaperone and was unspeakably grateful.

Taking one look at what Millicent was wearing, Fred's jaw dropped and he began shaking a little.

"Uh…no lunging!" said Millicent, hating the words even as they emerged from her mouth. "I am not that kind of witch!"

"You…sort of look like you are," said Fred, looking rather terrified. It was a fair point, Millicent thought. Her night-robe was thin enough to see through.

Crabbe sighed happily and Fred cast him a twitchy, anxious look. He didn't look as though he was after a booty call, Millicent thought. And she smiled. "You see right through me," she said huskily.

She was right, Fred backed up sharply, looking like a startled Niffler that had scented danger. "I see right through your robe," he said as though he was horrified, and he spun away from her, hands clamped over his eyes. He realised his mistake when she ventured closer.

"Do you like what you see?"

Pulling his hands away from his eyes; and with a complexion that was an interesting shade of dish-water, he held an arm up in front of himself to ward her away. "I have to…that is, I've come to…Oh Merlin, look." Shaking her shoulders when she was trying to get closer, he glared at her. "George. Your boyfriend, right? George. He's in a…a bit of a sleep. And he needs help to wake him up, right?"

"I can wake you up," murmured Millicent, glancing down at his pants and Crabbe sniffled as though all of his dreams had come true, because he read too many romances and he thought that the way of true-love was mapped with wild sex.

"Merlin, no!" Dropping her shoulders, Fred backed up several steps all at once. "No, I…My brother! I want you to get him out of his cocoon. If you know any Dark Arts, you'll be able to. Or if your House-mates do." He glanced past her into the common room, looking hopeful. "Then you can spend as much time as you want with him," he pointed out.

Two twins were better than one. It would be twice the fun. Millicent smiled. "You want me to help Fred?"

With a sigh that was part-relief and part defeat, Fred rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Please come and help Fred."


	8. Chapter 8

Walking through Hogwarts in negligee after curfew would not normally have been something that Millicent would consider. She was pretty sure that being caught out would embarrass Fred Weasley far more than it would bother her though, so she went with it. They reached Gryffindor Tower without seeing anyone.

"Do you know anything about Cocooning Charms?" the Weasley asked after he let Millicent into his dorm room. He had made very sure that she had no chance of overhearing the Common Room password, which meant that he had some sense at least.

Smart was not a reputation that Millicent needed so she fixed him with her best blank stare. "Do you use them on caterpillars?"

"Okay, you're a troglodyte," said Fred. His tone was light but in the way that would have veiled the insult from someone stupid rather than in a joking manner.

Millicent looked down at herself before patting her generous stomach. "Thanks. I've been dieting."

He stared at her before smirking. "Troglodyte might be too weak of a word."

While Millicent didn't mind calling people stupid, she generally did so in terms that they would understand. Sort of defeated the purpose doing it like this. She smiled and fluttered her lashes. "Did you bring me here just to flirt with me?"

Weasley reared back, almost comically repulsed. "Wha..? No…I mean, look, let's get back on track." He circled around behind an armchair, keeping it between Millicent and himself. Once he was safely away from her, he cleared his throat. "Okay. A Cocooning Charm is what my brother has cast on himself. It can be undone with the Dark Arts. You do know some Dark Arts spells, don't you?"

In light of Professor Flitwick's explanation of Cocooning Charms, Pansy and Millicent had already gone over their shared knowledge of Dark Arts magic. She was sure she knew enough to get George Weasley out of the Charm, but wasn't sure which spell would be strong enough to free him while being weak enough that it wouldn't harm him. She looked across at the floor between the two beds closest to the window. A human form lay there, wrapped in a shroud made of silvery spells. "I can curse people with boils," she offered. Even if that spell did get through the Cocooning Charm, it wouldn't be too harmful.

"I don't know if that will be enough. You can't do a Rending Curse?"

"Yes," said Millicent slowly. "But that might tear Fred into itty-bitty pieces and spray him like confetti around your dorm. It would be very troublesome to clean up."

Fred stared at her for long moments before he seemed to remember to blink. "Uh…yeah, that would be bad. The Cocooning Charm takes a lot of the first blow though, so as long as you're not too…" He blinked again, studying her and evidently trying to think of a way to explain that she needed to be delicate. "Heavy-handed everything should be fine."

"I'm a witch, not a wizard," said Millicent. She let her voice fill with insinuation. "We know how to be gentle."

Fred's colour faded as she spoke. "You know maybe we shouldn't…" he began, reaching out to stop her but she wasn't about to keep a second twin from Pansy's delighted clutches. She pulled her wand and cast the Rending Curse before Fred could finish.

The thin layer of spell-work George had been trussed up in split down the side, spilling him onto the floor in a flurry of dark-robes and red hair. He flailed for a moment before struggling to right himself. When he looked up, his eyes snagged on Millicent.

"Thank Merlin you're back, mate," said Fred as George scuttled across the floor, trying to get further from Millicent. She noted the heart-shaped freckle-pattern on his cheek that marked him apart from Fred. If anything it was more distinctive in reality than in photos and she wondered why other witches and wizards got the twins confused so often.

George made a strangled sound. His back had hit the bed and he was now trying to scrabble up it without taking his gaze off Millicent.

She screwed her nose up at him. "Don't worry; you're nowhere near as pretty as your brother so you're quite safe with me."

Both twins made identical mewls of horror and George's attempts to crawl up the bed became frenzied.

"You are twins though, so it seems a shame to only have one to add to my collection, even if I do get the pretty one."

"Er…" said Fred. "Well, unfortunately you don't get the pretty one. See, that's George there. He's your date and he has something very important to tell you."

The door crashed open, making several boys sleeping in the dorm startle awake. "No one is telling Millicent anything!" Draco exploded, walking in and grabbing Millicent by the arm. "You dirty minded brute! As though I wouldn't know all about your salacious plans!"

"There was no salacious plan!" Fred and George bellowed in unison.

Draco stopped to stare at them suspiciously. "Not on your side, I'm sure. Evidently I was talking to Millicent."

"There was a little bit of a salacious plan," Millicent admitted.

"Miss Bulstrode."

Even with her back to the door, Millicent could not mistake the sound of her Head of House's voice. She cringed before turning to find Professor Snape in the doorway beside a gleeful-looking Pansy. Oh yes, Pansy was all about the most drama one could wring out of a situation. She would have brought Draco for the histrionics and Snape to get them past the Fat Lady portrait. If Millicent didn't get expelled over this, she might even be impressed by Pansy's passionate pursuit of fun.

"As much as it vexes me to admit, it seems that I am going to have to give you the talk that Professor Flitwick strongly advocated." Professor Snape looked as though he despised life just a little more tonight.

"Yes Professor," said Millicent. She let Draco pull her away but made sure that she cast a long look back at the twins.

George waited until the three had disappeared down the stairs to stride to the door and slam it closed. He knew Fred well enough that he could guess what had happened and, with the soothing effects of the Cocooning Charm quickly evaporating, his temper was rising. "You went to Bulstrode to demand she get me out, didn't you?" he demanded, turning on his twin.

"Urm…yes," said Fred. "But to be fair…"

George glared at him and Fred chewed the inside of his cheek, nervously. "Why bring her into this? Why not get me out yourself if you're that desperate?"

"Don't you think I didn't try that?" drawled Fred. "Rending Curses are notoriously difficult to get right, and I hardly wanted to be the one to fillet my own brother, as annoyingly ungrateful as you can be at times."

"How difficult can it possibly be, Fred? Bulstrode managed it and I don't think that she's that smart!"

Fred shrugged sulkily.

"And I bet that you expected me to dump her the moment I was out, did you?"

"That would have worked much better for us," agreed Fred.

"Why was she in negligee?" George wailed. He hadn't touched her, but he wanted to go and scourgify himself a little.

Fred shuddered. "Don't even remind me. It was horrible, George. Horrible!"

Something else occurred to George. Something that probably should have made him happier, but mostly made him feel a little uncomfortable. "Snape won't expel her over that, will he?"

"He might." Fred brightened up at the prospect. "He could very well expel her. That would be amazing! We'd be off the hook, and Ginny wouldn't seek dire revenge upon us and Bulstrode won't bash us. The irony of being saved by a git like Snape is not lost on me, but…"

Sometimes George wondered whether he had hogged all of the empathy in the womb. "No," he said flatly. "You asked her up here to save me or something. And as unbearable as she is, she was trying to help you. You're not going to let her get expelled over that."

"I think I am," said Fred, obviously savouring the words. "I can see no way in which this could be a bad thing. And it's not as though anyone will miss her."

George sighed. "Alright. If you won't go and sort this out then I will."

"Good," said Fred, climbing into his bed. "Dump her while you're at it."


	9. Chapter 9

Pansy didn't seem at all worried as they headed back for the dungeons. She fussed over Draco while he sulked and shot Millicent baleful looks. Millicent tried to read the set of Snape's shoulders, but that was about as impossible as reading the man himself. Pansy was probably right to be unconcerned. While Professor Snape delighted in finding reasons to discipline other Houses, he rarely punished his own. Though, given the circumstances, perhaps she should be more worried, because he wasn't unleashing harsh scorn upon the heads of those Weasleys as he, by rights, should have been.

They reached his study and Snape dismissed Draco and Pansy.

"I think I should stay," said Pansy, lower lip trembling in very counterfeit concern. "In case Millie gets emotionally wrought."

The look Snape cast Millicent made it clear that he didn't think she had emotions to wring. That was as it should be. Millicent had been cultivating that idea for years.

"I might get emotionally wrought," she said slowly, pausing on the word 'wrought' in the way that one would if they didn't know what it meant.

Obviously Pansy had plans to play Professor Snape as well, and she probably thought it a marvellous idea. Millicent wasn't so sure. Snape was a bitter old git who held grudges against the children of the bullies who had crossed him in school. Millicent sort of respected that. Grudges were hard to keep up so Snape must have had an admirable amount of resolve.

Snape gave in with bad grace, motioning both of them into his study imperiously and closing Draco out.

The door had barely clicked shut before Snape turned on Millicent. "Have you quite taken leave of your senses?"

Millicent tried for a wry smile. "Maybe. I didn't mean to break curfew, but then he was there and he said he needed help – from me. It was so…"

"Ridiculous," Snape cut in succinctly.

"That wasn't the word I was looking for," said Millicent.

"You have a mirror in your dorm room, am I right, Miss Bulstrode?"

"Several," agreed Millicent.

"And you make use of them on occasion?"

Millicent frowned at him. She could see where this was going and thought Professor Snape more admirable for it. Someone like her had no use for lies. But keeping Snape out of the game would ruin the whole thing now and Pansy was more important in the scheme of things. "Uhm…yes. Everyone does?"

"And when you use your mirror precisely what do you see that gives you the idea that any Weasley would want to speak to you let alone go to a ball with you?"

Millicent didn't know how to play this. Usually the game was so easy, but Professor Snape was…perceptive. He wouldn't let them get away with the things Flitwick had. She glanced at Pansy before clearing her throat. "Uhm…I don't understand the question, sir?"

"Do you think," said Snape silkily. "That you are so attractive that the Weasley would betray his House, his family and even himself to have you?"

"Uhm…" Millicent looked to Pansy again. She pursed her lips and shook her head firmly. "No?"

"Very good, Miss Bulstrode. Do you think that you are so witty, charming or interesting that the Weasley would look past your obvious aesthetic defects and want you anyway?"

Pansy shook her head again, giving Millicent a meaningful look.

"No?" said Millicent.

"Precisely," said Snape. "So stop making a fool of your House with that boy."

"Sir, I don't understand what you mean," said Millicent. "I was only saying no because Pansy told me to, but I'm not sure what aesthetics are…or defects."

"He's saying you're too ugly for one of the twins to want you," said Pansy. "And, you know, it's probably true. You're really quite ugly. The twins are too, of course, but they're boys so I don't know if it counts."

"But one of the twins asked me out," said Millicent mildly. "And I think that my Georgie is very beautiful."

Both Snape and Pansy looked nauseated at that.

"Miss Bulstrode," said Snape once he had regained his composure. "He is playing a joke, as is his nature. And only you would be foolish enough to fall for it."

Millicent stared at him for a time before letting her chin quiver. Snape's gaze snapped to her jaw-line, eyes narrowing. Before he could head her off, she let her mouth crumple in what she hoped at least resembled misery. Then she began to bawl. She had always had a good set of lungs on her and she used them to her full advantage, sobbing tearlessly into her hands.

Pansy swooped in, executing perfect damage control by hugging Millicent into her and hiding the undeniably dry eyes. "Now, now, I've always told you that you weren't pretty, haven't I? It can't be that big of a surprise."

Millicent wailed a little bit louder.

Pansy kept murmuring soothingly, dropping her voice so that only Millicent could hear the words above the weeping. "Do you remember the time your cat died?" she asked, voice sweetly melodic. Millicent tried to pull away, but Pansy dug her nails in, held tight and told Millicent all about the single worst day of her life. By the time she was done, the tears were real and Millicent wanted to beat all kinds of tar out of Pansy.

But it had worked. Millicent was tear-streaked and so snotty she could barely breathe and her throat, head and lungs physically hurt, but Snape was trying to make things better. Backtracking was not his style. Instead he offered Millicent a potion, showing less annoyance than he likely felt.

Millicent took it. Her hand was shaking and she hated – _hated_ – crying in front of people. She wouldn't have cared if she was still pretending, but this was personal. She wiped ineffectively at her face with her free hand, turned away and downed the potion. She didn't care what it was, just wanted this to be over.

"Maybe," said Pansy, her voice bright and unconcerned. "It will be alright after all. Remember those Muggle romances Tracey smuggled in? It could be like that. They always started out with a guy wanting the girl for an impure reason, and look how they all turned out!"

"That's true," said Millicent, playing on automatically. It was easier with Pansy guiding the conversation. The effects of the potion were almost instantaneous, drying her tears and dulling her headache. After a few moments she could breathe properly again.

"There!" said Pansy happily.

Snape muttered something too low to hear, but if Millicent had to hazard a guess she would think he had said, "Dear Merlin, you girls are fools."

"Can we go to bed now?" Pansy asked. "Millicent looks even uglier when she hasn't had enough sleep and it will be hard enough to convince Weasley to like her anyway."

"I have a good personality," said Millicent.

Tilting her head to the side, Pansy studied her. "You have a lot of money," she said. "I think that that is your real strength."

"I don't think that my Georgie is like that…" Millicent said just as Snape's last thread of patience snapped.

He herded them out of his study with speed but without ceremony and slammed the door behind them.

Pansy was smart enough to put several metres between herself and Millicent before Millicent could hit her. "Well, we got through that one," Pansy said, her voice too bright, and making sure that she kept Millicent in view in case she was angry enough to hex her. Pansy didn't talk about things the way that Millicent did. Anything emotional scared her and if there was an uncomfortable topic between them she would avoid it rather than try to resolve it. "You're not very good at crying, you know. You're lucky I…"

"Used personal information against me?" Millicent put in coolly.

Pansy flinched and then pretended that she hadn't, dusting the shoulders of her shirt off. "Well," she said briskly. "That's why you tell me things, isn't it? The more we know about each other, the better we can play these games."

If Pansy knew how fragile her voice sounded she would probably Avada Kedavra herself or something. Weakness was not something that she forgave in anyone, least of all herself. It reminded Millicent that if the worst thing that she had endured was the death of a cat, she had it pretty easy. "Well, you're also my friend," she said dryly.

Pansy did not let herself smile. It was not her way. But her shoulders relaxed and the lines of her face smoothed out. "There is that," she drawled as though _that_ didn't really matter.

"What if I'd been expelled?" Millicent asked as they headed back for their dorm room. Nothing had come of the situation and if Slytherins were to hold grudges over every petty grievance, they would all kill each other before they were out of first year so Millicent wasn't upset; merely curious as to Pansy's reasoning.

"That was the plan," said Pansy, her face falling for a few moments. "Don't worry, I don't blame you for not getting expelled," she quickly assured Millicent.

"Well, that's a weight off my mind," said Millicent.

"It just would have been so much funnier if you had."

They reached the dorm and went in.

"I don't follow you," said Millicent. "Not that this comes as a surprise to me, because you've evidently lost your mind, but still."

"We could have invoked the Maeveen Clause."

Millicent's jaw dropped and she turned to stare at Pansy. Not being a pretty witch, she was well aware of the Maeveen Clause. In their circles even attractive witches knew all of the ins and outs of that particular law; just in case. "Pansy, let me say this once as concisely as I possibly can, I am not going to _marry_ someone for a prank."

"I don't see why not," said Pansy. "It seems a natural progression to our pranking career."

Unfortunately that was true. Millicent and Pansy had been escalating their pranks and there weren't that many places left to go with them. "My decision to not prank-marry Weasley stands. If it was Oliver Wood, it would be another matter."

Pansy chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Oliver Wood. Yes, that would be funny. Let's make that a future prank."

"I have no intention of getting a husband by prank," said Millicent.

"It seems as reasonable a way as any," said Pansy sulkily. "And I think it's very unfair that Snape did not expel you. If he had your parents would have insisted that an older, more knowledgeable boy had taken advantage of your innocent naiveté and you would have been married by morning. Then you would have the Gryffindor password and we would be able to torment all of them whenever we wanted."

"Oh, I see," said Millicent. "That's what this is about."

Pansy, who thought of any kind of admiration or infatuation as an unforgivable weakness, coloured violently. "You don't see anything, because there's nothing to see." There was real rancour in her words. They were still tiptoeing around the subject of Pansy's crush then.

Millicent sat on her bed and watched Pansy, feeling the gulf opening up between them, too vast to breach. Millicent didn't mind crushes, but she thought that Pansy could set her sights on something a little better than Gryffindor. There was still Hufflepuff, so Pansy could have done worse, but that was small consolation when what she really wanted was a flipping hero.


	10. Chapter 10

Fred was perched nervously on the edge of his bed when George finally let himself back into the dorm.

"Did you do it?" he asked hopefully. "Have you broken it off? Was it awful? Did she beat you?"

George shook his head morosely, rubbing a hand across his face. He should have just stepped up and gone off to dump Millicent days ago rather than trying to make Fred do it, then he might have avoided this mess. He pulled the extendable ear bud out of his ear and tossed the device onto his bedside table.

Fred sat a little straighter, studying George closely. "She's expelled?" he asked, voice full of hope.

George stretched his spine out. "No. There's that at least."

"Well, what then? Why do you look like an exiled Garden Gnome?"

George rocked back on his heels, dropping his hands to his sides and meeting Fred's gaze. "Do you know what they did? Snape and that cow, Pansy? Guess."

"Uh…" Fred held his hands out and shrugged his shoulders, a frown forming as he took in George's scowl. "Did they offer Bulstrode love potions so that she could have her wicked way with you? Or me? Merlin, she can't tell us apart, it could be either of us."

"Not even close to the right guess anyway," said George, throwing himself onto his back on the bed. He folded his hands across the flat of his stomach and glared at the ceiling. "They told her that she was ugly," he said, fury barely contained in his voice.

"Uh…she is."

"They made her cry," said George.

"And she makes the first years cry. It's karma if you think about it." Fred smiled cheerfully. "Well, it's over now then anyway. Snape and Parkinson must have made Bulstrode realise that she isn't our type of a witch, so you're free."

"Are you joking? There's no way I can dump her now. She's like vulnerable and…Fuck, why are Slytherins so screwed up?"

"To be fair, they were being honest more than anything. Bulstrode is ugly…"

"She's fat," George cut in sharply. "Eloise Midgeon is ugly. And none of it makes a damn bit of difference."

"Merlin, George, why are you so worked up about this?"

"Snape and Parkinson made Bulstrode believe that her looks were the only thing she had. And then they told her that her looks did not measure up to anything. Why would I not be angry about that? Why aren't you angry about that?"

Fred sighed. "Because her looks don't measure up to anything," he said. "If you go to the ball with her, you will be the laughing stock of the entire school. Can you imagine?"

George laughed shortly. "That is not even a minor part of the problem," he said. "I'm not desperate to get out of going to the ball with Bulstrode because she's ugly. I'm desperate to get out of it because she's boring. She's stupid, she's conventional. She cares what the people around her think of her and she clings to anyone who might show her the slightest scrap of affection. She is everything that I hate in a person."

Fred creased his nose, a frustrated V forming between his eyebrows as he studied George. "So you go to the ball with her and then what? You'll keep dating her, then marry her and have babies? Eventually, George, you're going to have to kick her to the curb and there's no reason to suffer through a ball before doing so."

"She thinks I asked her out," said George. "And all she thinks I've promised is a ball. That will be all she gets. It will be enough to shut Parkinson up about me doing this for a prank. She'll still have her dignity, or what little dignity people like her possess."

"She will," said Fred darkly. "And you'll have lost yours."

"As though my sense of self-worth is based on what people think of me," said George.

"I foresee you marrying Bulstrode," said Fred. "Your babies will be hideous beyond belief and you will spend your days wishing that you had listened to me."

George snorted. "No matter what happens, Fred, I doubt that I will ever wish that I had taken advice from you."

Fred sighed, collapsing on his back on the bed. "Maybe after this you'll actually find a suitable witch," he said.

It didn't bother Fred that George didn't date, not in the same way that it bothered their mother at least. Fred was used to hitting different stages at the same time as his brother and it annoyed him that he'd hit the dating stage and thus far had been going it alone, though. It wasn't as though George was utterly uninterested in witches either. He'd gone on a few dates, but nothing had lasted. There were plenty of witches who were fun with a sense of humour, and that was all George really wanted but no-one had quite clicked.

"You'd better get to bed. Quidditch practice tomorrow," Fred said, yawning as he stretched out in his bed.

He was right. Angelina would probably flay them if they turned up late.

Come morning, they stumbled out of bed with mere minutes to spare and managed somehow to make it to the Quidditch pitch before Angelina did. They weren't the only ones. Parkinson and Bulstrode were both leaning against the broom shed, polishing a broom. George had never seen either of them fly before.

"You bought a Nimbus 2001?" he asked. Everyone knew that Bulstrode had money, but buying a broom as extravagant as the Nimbus 2001 just because he liked Quidditch was kind of psychopathic.

"It's Draco's," said Bulstrode, smiling at him dreamily. She had opted for makeup that morning, which had been a horrifically unwise decision. Her eyelids were laden down with blue shadow, her mouth painted a burgundy that didn't bother confining itself to her lips. The effect was that of a sad clown. "Pansy likes polishing it. I could polish yours?"

With the makeup and tone, George couldn't tell whether she was coming on to him or being sincere. His broom was pretty much the most expensive thing he owned so either way it was a no. "Uh…" he said. Then Parkinson smiled; a wicked twist to her lips that he knew meant she would enjoy him turning Bulstrode down, and he changed his mind. "Sure, if you want. After practice though."

Parkinson's mouth dropped open in shock. Bulstrode looked surprised too, though that might have been an impression that the clown makeup gave.

He didn't have time to consider it before Angelina arrived, demanding why brooms were not yet out and warm-ups had not been started, and slapping at people when they did not move quickly enough. She was far more terrifying a taskmaster than Oliver Wood had ever been.

"You two again," she said, scowling at Parkinson and Bulstrode. "Haven't you got anywhere better to be?"

"I want to be supportive," said Bulstrode. Her voice was soft and distracted, and George wished that she was anywhere else.

"Weasley, seriously," said Alicia Spinnet "You might think this is funny, but when it disrupts practice…"

"Leave it. She can be wherever she wants to be," George snapped at her, grabbing his broom from the shed and stalking out onto the pitch.

Behind him Parkinson and Bulstrode exchanged a long look.


	11. Chapter 11

"Okay, what just happened?" Millicent asked in an undertone as George mounted his broom and took to the air. "Did he…? Was he..?" Her thoughts didn't clear up enough to finish the question. Instead she fell silent and waited for Pansy to guess what she was trying to articulate and to explain it for her.

"I think we broke him," said Pansy.

That was as apt an explanation as Millicent had come up with. "Well," she said. "That's game over then. Let's prank the Hufflepuffs next."

Pansy tilted her head to the side and watched the Gryffindor team get into their warm-ups. "I think we can get a bit more out of this situation."

"He wants me to polish his broomstick, Parkinson," said Millicent. "And I have no idea whether he meant broomstick or _broomstick_ , if you know what I'm saying. No, when it gets to the point of sexual favours or domestic duties, we cut our losses."

"Not yet, Millie!" Pansy wailed.

Millicent had already begun turning toward the school but turned back to find Pansy gazing at her with imploring eyes. "What? What more fun can we get from this?"

"There's Draco," said Pansy. "He'll be so hysterical. And there's the other Weasley twin. He'll still freak out."

There was that. And Millicent could tell them apart enough that she wouldn't get stuck with the broken one that might expect broomstick attention. She nodded slowly. "Okay, but the Yule Ball is the end of it."

"Speaking of," said Pansy. "I better get on to studying how to trap him into his invitation to you."

When Millicent began to turn towards the castle again, Pansy caught her by the shoulder, pulling her roughly back.

"No, no. You're meant to play the adoring girlfriend. Now go cheer for the boy. But make sure it's the wrong boy."

Millicent sighed before trudging back toward the stands. She would have asked whether Pansy expected her to actually polish the damn broom, but had the feeling that the answer would only depress her more.

…..

When Pansy was interested in a topic, her focus could get pretty scary. And she had vested interest in keeping the Weasley twin and Millicent together. Draco had spent the previous night getting steadily drunk off a bottle of twenty year old Firewhiskey that he had pilfered from the Malfoy cellar. Occasionally he had looked at Millicent and sighed deeply before trying to bribe her into giving her Weasley up. When the alcohol had been gone and the jewels had not worked, he had mustered his courage and his considerable charm and tried to seduce her. Pansy was still stunned that she had not died laughing.

"I can tell that's transfigured."

Pansy had chosen the quietest corner of the library, but she looked up from her book to see a rather annoyed looking Hermione Granger looming over her. She put on her most perfectly polished tone, turned her nose up and asked, "Excuse me?"

"That text that you're going through. I can tell that it's not really your potions book."

"Is it not?" drawled Pansy. "I wonder what in the world it could be then."

"I imagine," said Hermione coldly, drawing up a chair. "That you're researching a way to make George Weasley keep his promise to take Millicent Bulstrode to the Yule Ball."

Pansy cast Hermione a rather bored look before yawning. "They say you're the brightest witch in our year and I don't know why," she said casually. "George Weasley invited Millicent to the ball. And, for some inexplicable reason, she accepted. Why would I need to research a way to make something that's bound to happen happen?"

Hermione stared at her for a long moment. "Look, Pansy," she said finally. "I believe that Millicent Bulstrode is stupid enough to fall for a trick like that, but I would never believe it about you. Are you trying to help her, or are you actually cruel enough to sit back and watch while the twins set her up like this?"

Pansy stopped chewing on her quill and laid it carefully on the table. "I'm not sure exactly what you're suggesting, Granger. If you're saying that there's something wrong with Bulstrode…"

"For God's sake, keep your voice down," Hermione hissed, glancing around cautiously and leaning in once she'd ascertained that no one was listening. "Of course there's something wrong with Millicent. And if you actually think that either of the Weasley twins would ever ask her out then there's something wrong with you too."

Creasing her nose, Pansy shrugged. "Well, considering that I was there when one of them asked her out…" she began dryly.

"Don't be daft," Hermione cut in. "You know very well that they wouldn't do that. Look, I know that sometimes the jokes the twins play push the boundaries, but this one is just cruel. Now, are you or are you not trying to find a way to legally bind George to his invitation?"

"I am," said Pansy cautiously.

"Excellent," said Hermione. "Pass me a book and let me help."

Pansy pushed one of the larger volumes across the table. "Millicent can never know about this," she said.

Hermione frowned. "I heard about that bathroom conversation you had with Angelina and Katie," she admitted. "It sounds…Well, it sounds like Millicent has a lot of hopes pinned on this date."

"Yes," agreed Pansy. "She is absolutely thrilled by the prospect. The flaming red hair, you know."

Hermione looked as though she did know. Pansy had suspected that there was something going on with that Ronald Weasley and Hermione, and was frankly disgusted. Freckles, that bright grated carroty mess of hair and feet as big as that oaf Hagrid's. Why any self-respecting witch would even…Pansy forced down a shudder and smiled brightly at Hermione. "Well, thanks for the help anyway. Millicent doesn't have good things happen to her very often, and she is so devoted to that Weasley."

….

Millicent was trying hard not to fall asleep. This was why she, Pansy, Daphne and Tracey spent Quidditch matches throwing Bertie Botts beans at each other and painting their toe-nails. It was all zipping in and out and up and down. It was probably fun for those involved but really, people were expected to enjoy watching this?

After what seemed an age of cheering for the wrong twin, the right twin landed his broom in the stands by her. She might have dropped off for a moment but startled awake when his robes brushed her leg.

"Practice over," he said, pushing his flying goggles up onto his head. Standing in front of her, he was framed by the sun and Millicent was surprised with the realisation that he was pretty, well, fit. She shook herself. Of course he was. Athlete and all that.

"You're not my Weasley," she said, smiling. Then she jumped down from the stand and went to wrap her arms around Fred. "I can polish your broom now," she purred.

He squeaked and tried to shake her off but, athlete or not, he didn't have that much in the way of muscle mass. Angelina turned to glare at them. Maybe this prank wasn't yet dead after all.

Pansy was almost boneless with delight that night in their dorm. "Our game has just been given a new dimension," she said. "I think it might be the most complex game we have ever played."

"Really?" Millicent stopped tugging forlornly at her hair ribbons to give Pansy her full attention. "What's happened?"

"We have officially," said Pansy in reverent tones. "Drawn Hermione Granger into the mix – and do you want to know the best part?"

"What's the best part?" asked Millicent dutifully.

"We're winning! Us! Against her! She doesn't suspect us at all, and do you know why?"

Millicent sighed but she really wouldn't get an answer if she didn't ask the question; so she asked, "Why?"

"Because you look too stupid to be able to orchestrate something like this so she's come to the conclusion that it's those nasty twins' fault and she's helping me!"

Millicent looked down at herself. "When you say I look too stupid, do you mean I look too fat?" she asked.

Pansy waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, Millie, it's the same thing." She sighed in utter bliss and, smiling like a kneazel, said, "Oh Millie, I knew there was a reason I had a fat friend."

Millicent laughed and threw a pillow at Pansy's head. It hit hard but only made Pansy laugh too. "But really," she said. "If we pull this off we beat _everyone_."

Millicent considered. "We can out-prank the pranksters, out-smart the smartest person in school, infiltrate the group of the Boy-Who-Lived…"

"And tease Draco!" Pansy squealed, hugging the pillow to herself. "I'm so happy I could cry!"


	12. Chapter 12

When the he woke the next morning Fred was still angry with George.

"For the last time, mate, I didn't set her on you," George snapped, glaring across the dorm at his twin. "She thought I was you playing at being me. I didn't make her think it."

"Then why the hell did she think it?" Fred demanded, throwing one of his shoes at his brother.

George threw the shoe back considerably harder. It missed Fred's head, bouncing harmlessly off the wall. "I don't know, Fred. Maybe because you always bloody play at being me? You think that might be it?"

"You'd better keep her away from me today," said Fred. "I have no intention on having her along for my date with Angelina. And if she tries to pull that crap she pulled yesterday…"

"What? You'll wail like a schoolgirl again?"

Another shoe hit George squarely in the shoulder. "As a schoolgirl I resent that," said Ginny, voice hard and eyes harder as she walked into the dorm.

"Ow," said George, rubbing his arm. "What are you doing here?"

In answer, Ginny reached a hand up and plucked out two strands of her hair. Fred took them from her before leaning forward to kiss her cheek roughly. "You're a life-saver, Gin."

"If I was a good person, I would let you choke on this misfired prank," Ginny told him as he dropped the strands of hair into a goblet.

"But you're not, and I love you," said Fred, raising his goblet in a silent toast before he tipped it back and drained it.

"That Polyjuice potion took us months to make," protested George.

Fred's hair was already growing, hitting his shoulders in cascading waves. "I don't need much. Just enough to get out of the school and into Hogsmeade unseen. And you can't say that this isn't an emergency."

"Clothes?" asked George.

"I can transfigure my own. See you guys later." Fred headed out the door with a half-hearted wave, face and body already mostly transfigured into Ginny's.

"You coming to breakfast?" George asked her.

She shook her head, going across to pick her shoe up. "Can't be seen until he's well gone," she said. "I'll just hang around here a while."

George shrugged his indifference, though he wasn't quite indifferent. With Fred gone, he was the only one left for Bulstrode to harass. It wasn't the most appealing prospect. He'd been looking forward to the Hogsmeade weekend as well.

When he got to the Great Hall, however, things were slightly more surreal than he expected. Bulstrode was obviously waiting for him. When he walked toward the Gryffindor table one of the Greengrass girls tapped her arm and she perked up, half-turning in her seat in anticipation. Then her eyes fell on him and she deflated, turning back around and shaking her head at the girl.

That was sort of weird.

George considered the matter as he ate. During Quidditch practice the previous day, she had cheered for Fred every time he executed a particularly difficult move. She had not once cheered for George. And then, at the end, she'd been convinced that he was Fred, just playing around.

Before George had cleared his plate, Bulstrode was sliding into the seat by his. "Where's your hunky brother today?" she asked a little breathlessly.

George sighed, tearing his piece of toast in two. "I hate to break it to you, Bulstrode, but I'm George. The guy you're looking for is Fred. And yeah, evidently Angelina thought that he was hotter too, but he's taken now."

When he chanced a glance at Bulstrode, she was frowning. "I can't tell if this is your idea of a joke or whether you're trying to cheat on your girlfriend or whether you're trying to steal your brother's girlfriend," she said.

George almost choked on his toast. He wasn't sure whether it was out of surprise or amusement. Either way it was…new, this feeling of being caught off-guard. Usually Ginny was the only one who could twist the things she said to keep him constantly alert. He turned on the bench and studied Millicent. She was in makeup again. Today, though, the garish clownishness was even more marked. It was unbearably fascinating. "Bulstrode…Millicent," he said, schooling his tone to a gravity that he had never actually felt before. "I'm George. If I don't meet your expectations, that's unfortunate but inescapable. Fred is taken and he would not wish to go with you to the Yule Ball if he was not. You are not his type."

Bulstrode studied him. Under the makeup, her eyes looked serious. "Fred," she said. "I am willing to have both of you because you really ought to be a set, but I have no intention of giving up on my Georgie."

Then she was up and flouncing out of the room. Actually flouncing. George had not known that the word flounce was actionable until this very moment. He rubbed the back of his neck with both hands and sighed. He and Fred were identical twins for Merlin's sake. People who knew them well could sometimes tell them apart but no one would find one attractive without finding the other one so.

Ginny was still in George's dorm when he went back upstairs. She was lying on Fred's bed and playing with her wand. "Bulstrode's heading down to Hogsmeade," she told him, not seeming interested.

George swore under his breath. She'd most probably find Fred down there and Fred would likely dump her hard in front of anyone who might be watching. This was exactly what he would have hoped to avoid. "How do you know that?"

"Lee Jordan came in to warn Fred but found me, obviously."

"Okay," said George. Going off to find Bulstrode wasn't the answer. She wanted Fred badly enough that she could recognise him. George bit into his bottom lip. "Gin," he said, going across to their potion cabinet. "See if you can find a few of Fred's hairs on his pillow."

"What?" Ginny sounded disgusted by the prospect, but she complied without waiting for an explanation. "When are you planning on dumping her anyway?" she asked, coming across to give George a few strands of red hair. She tried not to sound like she was accusing him, but failed.

"I'm not going out with her, so there's not going to be any dumping," George said. A goblet wouldn't be enough. He'd need more than one hour. "Once the Yule Ball's over, that's it. It's not like she should expect any more."

Ginny frowned, passing him Fred's hip flask before sitting on the bed next to him. "You're going through with the Ball?"

"Romance pranks aren't our style," said George, pouring the Polyjuice potion into the container.

"How did it happen if not a prank?" asked Ginny.

"I don't know," said George. "Fred had been trying out some experimental potions earlier in the day. He says he doesn't remember what they were, but I think he does. Anyway, if Bulstrode gets near him, he's going to break her."

"You're going to try and help her?" asked Ginny. There was something in her tone that made George glance at her. He'd always thought that Ginny was weird. She could sit through ex-boyfriends begging for a second chance as cold as stone and then tear up about something as stupid as this.

"Don't start that. What is that even about? Why are you leaking now?"

"Because, dumb-arse, you made me think that you had no idea what a prank like this could do to someone and then it's not a prank and you know exactly what it could do and you're trying to stop it and you're not a soulless git after all even though I thought you were," said Ginny, hitting him in the shoulder. "And I'm not leaking." She was quiet for a time and then sat up straighter. "Why are you Polyjuicing as Fred? That's just stupid."

George shook his head. "You were there yesterday," he said. "She cheered for Fred, not for me. She thinks he's the one who asked her out, except she thinks he's me."

"But Fred freaks out whenever she's around," said Ginny. "I mean, he shrieks and struggles to get away and has meltdowns. You're sort of, I guess, nice to her. Where did she get the idea that Fred's you?"

George pinched the bridge of his nose. "Merlin knows where she gets any of her crazy ideas," he said. "And I don't have time to think about it, I need to get out and stop Fred from hurting her."

"George," said Ginny. She did a pretty good impression of Molly Weasley sometimes, and sounded about as disapproving as a baby sister could. George turned to glare at her because if she was breaking out her 'mum' tone then she was going to tell him off. "Take all of your stupid ideas that girls are mental and that they make no sense and throw them out the window. Whatever the hell Bulstrode's problem is, it isn't that she's crazy. If you think that then you're already…"

"Losing," George supplied, fingers going clammy with the sudden realisation. If Ginny was right and Bulstrode was rational then her behaviour in the past few days had a different purpose to the one George had blithely accepted.

"What?" asked Ginny. "No, I was going to say misinterpreting everything."

"Yes," said George. "I'm misinterpreting everything so damn much that I don't even know that I'm losing. I don't even know I'm in a fucking game."

"Uhm…" Ginny creased her nose at him. "Okay, yeah, so maybe boys are crazy. Shouldn't you be saving Bulstrode?"

George laughed. Even to his ears it came out hollow. He shook his head finally and took a swig of Polyjuice potion. No need to change clothes; he and Fred shared stuff and this set of robes was generic enough that Bulstrode wouldn't recognise it from breakfast. With a sigh, George stood up. The theory had to be tested, but he already thought that it was right. If it was maybe the weekend wouldn't be so bad after all.


	13. Chapter 13

The Slytherin girls were in the front entrance when George walked down the stairs. He stopped abruptly and scanned the group, already backing up the way he'd come. It was at best a clumsy escape attempt. The staircase behind him was teeming with other students and backing into them only clogged the flow.

Tracey Davis said something and Bulstrode turned. Her gaze snagged on him and, under the makeup, her face lit up. The Polyjuice had worked then; she thought that he was Fred.

George kept backing into the student body jam that he was creating, because that's what Fred would do if he was panicking too much to come up with a plan. That worked too. Bulstrode's smile brightened and she swept forward to catch his arm and pull him back into the entry-way.

"I was going about to go to Hogsmeade with the girls but it would be so much more romantic if I went with you," she cooed. "It will be our first date."

Parkinson's mouth curled into a smirk. Half an hour ago, George would have thought that she was enjoying how much of a fool Bulstrode was making of herself. With his whole perception tilting precariously, he finally acknowledged that Parkinson was enjoying how much of a fool Bulstrode was making of him. They were Slytherin, they were friends and they were malicious. Better for them to stay friends and target those outside of their circle. And he'd tried to be kind to Bulstrode. He'd actually gone out of his way to protect the feelings that she evidently did not have while all along she and her friends had been toying with him and Fred.

George tugged at the arm that Bulstrode had captured. Even if he'd been genuinely trying to get away he doubted that he would have had much luck. The girl was strong. He wasn't trying to get free though. This had gone too far for that. George was going to play the Slytherins at their own game; and games like these George never lost. "I'm Fred," he said, because that had been Fred's plaintive catch-cry in the few days past. "For the love of Merlin, woman, release me!"

That only made Bulstrode hug his arm to her and give a little purr of contentment. Which was creepy as all fuck, but George could still win this. He couldn't believe it had taken days of agony and advice from Ginny to see what was happening. Bulstrode was practically oozing delight now that she had him in her clutches and thought that he was miserable. "Such a joker," she said, pulling him towards the doors.

"I'll scream," George threatened. He had listened to Fred's horror-stricken wails often enough that he knew how to emulate them. "I'll scream for help unless you let me go!"

Millicent stopped walking and dropped George's arm, giving him a look of confusion. "Are you busy now?" she asked.

Evidently forcibly kidnapping him broke some Slytherin rule or something. George shouldn't have put up such a struggle. It was done now, though. He'd just have to be more careful the next time they played. "I'm Fred," he said. "Fred. The one that you are not dating. You need to find George. The other one."

"You're so funny," said Bulstrode, smiling and attempting to flutter lashes that were far too laden down with mascara. Even the clown makeup had been a joke; pushing plausibility to its limits. George had no idea how he hadn't gotten it. He always got jokes. "If you don't want to go to Hogsmeade though, I can have lunch with your mother alone."

George's brain hiccupped over that insane idea. "My mother – what?"

"She seems very lovely," said Bulstrode, tone high and light – probably calculated to give him a searing headache. "See, my mum is friends with Tracey Davies' mum who is friends with Susan Bones' mum who is friends with Squib Longbottom's grandmother…"

"Neville," George inserted, staring at her and waiting for her to get to the point.

She gave him a blank look and George wondered whether she really didn't know Neville's name. "Who is friends with your mother," she ended. "And they had their first Potions and Lotions house party Thursday night and my mum mentioned that you and I were together and now your mum wants to meet me. Didn't she owl you too?"

Okay, so Bulstrode was good. She was better than good at this. It sounded innocuous. Basic grapevine gossip that might have spread in a perfectly harmless manner. But George knew it hadn't. Bulstrode had found a way to leak that particular piece of information to his mother. His mother who had been waiting for this news since Fred had started dating Angelina two years ago.

"You can't meet my mother!" George was very sure about this. School was one thing, but George didn't have a chance in hell of winning this thing if family was dragged into the mix.

Millicent sighed. "You should have told me that before she owled me. I can't back out now. Anyway, I'll see you later."

"No, no," said George, and this, he realised, was what she'd been expecting. Even Fred would not have let her meet Molly on her own. The blackmail material that she would have been able to collect would have been momentous. "I'm coming with you."

Millicent's face lit up once more and she caught his hand again before turning back to her friends. "You can go on," she said.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "If you're not coming with me, I'm going to the library," she said and peeled off before Tracey or Daphne could protest.

Millicent leaned her head on George's shoulder as they walked to Hogsmeade. He wasn't much taller than her and she could do so comfortably. George pushed at her with the arm that she wasn't clutching and made some sounds of horror for good measure, but so far things were going well.

When they reached Hogsmeade they ran into Lee Jordan. An anxious look crossed his face before he made a B-line for George and Millicent. Millicent must have shot him a particularly violent look, however, because he veered away again and disappeared into a nearby store. It must have been handy to have the ability to dispose of unwanted company so easily, George thought before making some more inarticulate sounds of distress.

Something flashed nearby so brightly that George winced. When he opened his eyes, Millicent was hugging him around the waist and telling him to smile. There was another flash. George blinked a few times. Colin Creevey was taking photos of them. A lot of photos of them.

"Now we'll have a record of our first date to show the children," said Millicent. She sounded giddy with delight, but it occurred to George that she was holding him away from her a little bit like she didn't really like the particulars of this date any more than he did. When he didn't react to her comment, she tilted her head at him. "I thought we'd use the best photo for our Christmas card this year," she said.

George yowled and tried to struggle free, because that was what she expected, but it was quite clever of her, he thought. She hugged him tighter and demanded loudly that Creevey take more photos, which he happily did.

Molly and Arthur Weasley were already waiting in the Three Broomsticks when George and Millicent arrived. They hung their cloaks up, as George tried to come up with an explanation for looking like Fred. In the end it wasn't needed. His mother frowned at him as he sat down and then seemed to think that he was George considering that he was with Millicent.

"Well," said Arthur, rubbing his hands on the knees of his trousers and looking from George to Millicent as though he was waiting for someone to tell him that George's new girlfriend was still on the way.

"This is Millicent," said George, trying to sound as grudging as it was polite. Meeting up with his parents had an unexpected benefit. He didn't need to feign horror at Millicent's advances right now. He could hardly be expected to pretend to enjoy them but, for his parents' sake, Millicent would expect him to be courteous to her and to act at least partially like a boyfriend. All that she'd expect Fred to do would be to rush through the lunch as quickly as possible.

"Oh, lovely to meet you!" exclaimed Molly, though she didn't look very sure about that. Millicent without make-up would have been hard enough for her to accept. "We've been very excited to meet the new witch in our George's life."

George heaved a sigh. "Yes, yes. Let's eat and go. We've a lot to do," he said briskly. "Bul...I mean, Millicent, what will you order?"

She opened the menu and went through it, though it hadn't changed in the entire time George had been at Hogwarts and he knew that the Slytherins frequented the place.

"Come on," George urged her.

"What's the rush?" asked Arthur.

"Not sex," said Millicent a little too quickly.

Everyone stared at her.

Millicent raised her eyes from the menu.

"I'm...sorry, dear?" said Molly, sounding like she really did not want to ask.

Millicent licked her lower lip, looking nervous, before clearing her throat. "Georgie isn't rushing me so that we can have sex," she said, as though this was a perfectly normal topic. "Because we're not like that."

George doubled over, pressing his hands to his mouth to keep his laughter in. A garbled moan emerged instead. Merlin, she was good. She was so good that in twenty seconds flat she had his parents believing that they were already screwing.

He hated to admit it but this game was actually starting to get interesting.


	14. Chapter 14

When George had finished almost choking on his laughter, he looked up to find his mother glowering at him. "Why don't we go and order from the counter, George," she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

George glanced at Millicent who was composedly reaching for a breadstick and nodded.

They were barely out of range of the table when Molly smacked George soundly around the ears. "What do you have to say for yourself?" she demanded, voice a shrill whisper. "When I saw her come in I wondered what in the world you could have seen in a girl like that but really, George! I raised you better!"

George rubbed his head ruefully. "I'm not sleeping with her, mum," he protested, scowling. "And what do you mean by a girl like that?"

"Well, she doesn't look at all like Fred's Angelina, does she?" asked Molly sharply. "Poor thing, she's probably used to giving her body away to get attention. But that does not mean that you have to lower yourself to that! I taught you to respect women."

"Yes," agreed George, and it was true but there had been things there that Molly had failed to teach him. For example, she had taught him not to take advantage of those girls who weren't so attractive. She'd taught him not to be cruel to ugly girls. She hadn't taught him that unattractive and ugly girls had entire personalities and wills that had nothing to do with how they looked. Nor had she taught him that he would not be able to take advantage of some of them because they valued themselves too highly to allow it. That was a whole new learning curve happening right there.

It was sobering. If Millicent Bulstrode had been pretty, George would have sat down with her and talked through the letter and explained that it had been a mistake, even if she had accepted the invitation. Because she wasn't attractive, he hadn't respected her enough to assume that she was rational. Like everyone else in Hogwarts, he had thought that she was desperate for a date.

Lunch ended up being an awkward affair with Molly complimenting Millicent's clothes and make-up in an almost too obvious attempt at raising her self-confidence. And because Millicent's make-up and clothes were part of an elaborate joke, she mostly looked puzzled by the whole thing and eventually looked as though she thought that Molly was not all there.

Arthur was much quieter and spent the time looking from George to Millicent and then back again. By the end of it, George was having paranoid delusions that his father was trying to work out the sexual logistics between them. He nearly forgot to take the next dose of Polyjuice potion because of it.

When his parents finally Flooed home, George leant back in his seat and put both of his hands over his face. As funny as the sex thing had been at the time, there were going to be ramifications that would be considerably less so. At least his mother had kept all of the baby pictures in her purse in light of Millicent's surprise declaration.

Millicent snuggled into his side and rested her chin on his shoulder to murmur dirty suggestions into his ear. It almost made him smile, before he remembered that that was not the appropriate response with her.

She was being careful again though. Not pressing her body right against him, but putting her elbows in the way so that her breasts weren't touching him. That made it pretty clear that if he let on that he knew about the game she was playing, she would run a mile.

He shifted his shoulder, trying to shake her off. It made her clutch him more tightly.

"Let's go somewhere nice for a coffee," she said.

He knew immediately what she was angling for. Madam Puddifoot's would likely be the most humiliating place to take him. But if he was going to find a way to turn this game on her, then he was going to have to figure out a way to agree to that suggestion.

"I'll have one coffee with you," he said. "Just one. If you promise to stay away from me after that. Okay?"

She studied him, eyes solemn under the layers of blue shadow. Finally she nodded once. "The sexual attraction gets too much for me sometimes too," she said.

For the second time that day George managed to smother his laughter into a choke. It was a near thing though. If he spent much more time around the unpredictable Millicent Bulstrode he wouldn't be able to help himself. The girl was hilarious.

He gave her a stern look. "One coffee," he said and rose from his chair.

Much to his surprise, she didn't head for Madam Puddifoot's, stopping at a café across from it instead. Before she could open the door, George caught her arm. He let it go the moment he had her attention. "Ah, Lee Jordan says that the coffee over there is the best," he said, tilting his chin.

She glanced at the tea shop, shrugged and started towards it. Nothing in her face or posture had suggested she'd been there before, which would help. Lee Jordan had been only once and proclaimed it to be not unlike the tenth circle of hell. But he had added that the Love Brew Special contained actual essence of Amortentia. There wasn't enough of a dose to cause complete obsession, but it would give someone a kick-start down that path.

Once seated, Millicent ordered without looking at the menu. George pointed the Love Brew Special out to Madam Puddifoot and said in tones of grave unhappiness, "Extra strong, please. Today I need it."

Madam Puddifoot shot Millicent a curious look and nodded as though she quite agreed.

Millicent stretched back in her seat, looking as though she was growing bored with this game. George wondered what she looked like without the make-up. He'd never really taken any notice of her before all of this started.

The game extended further than himself and his brother. Bulstrode and Parkinson had gotten Snape involved. Draco was obviously being tricked as well and, if Professor Flitwick's stern talk to him and Fred was anything to go by, the girls had wrapped him up in the whole thing too. It sort of made George want to break from his part and ask her how she and Parkinson had managed it. Not just this prank, but how they'd spent so long making everyone think that they were vapid.

The drinks arrived before he could entertain the notion fully.

Millicent smiled at George adoringly as she drank hers. He reached for his own cup and hesitated when another flurry of bright lights lit up the table. George glanced across at the window where Creevey was still taking photos.

"Bloody hell, are you serious?" he demanded.

Millicent hooked her foot onto his under the table. "My parents are so looking forward to seeing photos of us," she purred.

George sighed and lifted his cup. When Millicent turned to smile and wave at Creevey, he dumped its contents into the nearest vase. Having even a little essence of Amortentia in his system around Millicent would be a terrible idea. She was far enough ahead of him in this game as it was.

She turned back to him, smile still plastered to her face. "I can see why you brought me here, Georgie."

"Hm?" George followed her gaze to a couple kissing in the corner. To the right of them was another couple, also snogging. They were, in fact, surrounded by snogging couples. Suddenly it became very clear to George why Lee Jordan had likened this evidently loose establishment to hell. "Oh, that's nice," he said dreamily. "Everyone here's in love."

When he turned back to Millicent, she was staring at him in evident horror.

He smiled at her. "Do you like big families, Millie? My mother was quite insistent that I ask you. I didn't want to because…" he paused and made a show of trying to remember something before shrugging the matter aside. "I don't know. Perhaps I thought that you were too young. But you seem quite mature now."

Millicent wasn't dumb. George was kind of counting on that. Her gaze zeroed in on the cup dangling casually from his fingers before she glanced at the heart-shaped menu. He put the cup back into its saucer and stretched.

"It's amazing how a good, strong brew can help you think more clearly," he said, shaking his head. "What was I thinking of with Angelina? How was that ever a good idea? You're a much better idea, Millie."

Millicent looked down at her own cup before upturning it into the same vase George had used to dispose of his. Then she stood up and walked to the counter. George followed her, taking her hand when she stopped.

"What do you put in your drinks?" she demanded furiously of a flustered Madam Puddifoot. She was trying to shake George's hand free from hers and almost hit Madam Puddifoot in the face a few times.

"You…you had coffee, my dear. Ah, with cream and a touch of hazelnut, I believe…"

"And him?" Millicent's voice sounded about as dangerous as the Black Plague.

Madam Puddifoot cleared her throat. "Ah…Love Brew. Extra strong."

Millicent paused in her attempt to peel George's hand from hers. "What is Love Brew?" she growled.

Looking increasingly unhappy and wringing her hands, Madam Puddifoot whispered. "It has essence of Amortentia in it, dear. He asked for a double dose." At Millicent's expression, she hurried to add, "It will wear off within a day. Usually less, but he seems to have a severe case of it."


	15. Chapter 15

The Slytherin girls must have had some sort of communication charm because Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis swept across to George and Millicent the moment they left Madam Puddifoot's. They took in the way that George was holding Millicent's hand and the way that she was still trying to shake him free and immediately flanked her.

"The Shrieking Shack is meant to be really interesting," Tracey said, slipping her arm through Millicent's free one as they walked. "Daphne knows a short-cut."

Daphne went on ahead of them, twirling her wand and looking bored. George hadn't thought that they were in on it until now. They always seemed to be fighting with Millicent and Parkinson. That said, Millicent and Parkinson always seemed to be fighting with each other as well. Perhaps that was all part of the plan in some way. George couldn't quite figure it out. And Millicent was using up a goodly part of his concentration by trying to wrench herself from his grip. She was still being relatively gentle, for which George was grateful. Though she also aimed their joined hands at a few signposts and George doubted that she'd mind if she broke his fingers.

They were winding through a selection of back alleys that he doubted would lead them to the Shrieking Shack. "Hm," said Daphne finally. "We might be lost. Millie, can you ask your gorgeous Weasley to step inside that store and ask for directions?"

Millicent heaved a sigh and turned to George.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," he said at once. "You'd be out on the street with no one to protect you."

The look Millicent gave him put him in mind of blood and pain.

"And I must stay with you," he said, rather afraid but quite resolute. "My delicate flower."

"Did you hit him in the head?" asked Tracey looking both fascinated and disgusted.

"Amortentia," said Millicent glumly.

Both of the other witches stared at her. "I don't understand," said Daphne finally.

Millicent sighed. "Georgie, it would be really ever so wonderful if you'd go and ask for directions. And maybe ask three or four times to make sure that you get it right." She looked as though she hated herself, but went on anyway. "If you loved me, you'd do it."

If he stepped into the store, there was no doubt that Millicent would take off and hide herself somewhere until the essence of Amortentia had worn off. George chewed his lower lip. She might not be so quick to abandon friends, though, as a Slytherin, he wasn't sure how much loyalty he could expect her to have. "Perhaps Tracey Davis could accompany me. Directions are not my strong suit."

"That sounds wonderful," said Davis, dropping Millicent's arm immediately and coming around to take George's. "You can tell me all about your date with Millie."

"Do you know if she likes big families?" George asked as Tracey dragged him away. "She does have those child-bearing hips."

Millicent shuddered and turned to Daphne as the shop door closed behind George and Tracey. "This is not fun anymore," she said. "I think we're done."

Daphne ignored Millicent's comment. "I'm not sure where you got Amortentia from, but it seems like it goes against the rules." There weren't any real rules to the pranks Millicent and Pansy played, but they tended to draw the line at things like using magic to influence people and using force.

"Of course it does," said Millicent, wiping her hand off on her robes before casting a Scourgify on it. "There's a tea shop that sells love potion laced coffee. Can you believe that?"

"Why not? It would do a roaring trade. I'll bet the owner was Slytherin."

"Please do not wish that woman upon our house," said Millicent. "Now, I'm going to run while he's distracted."

"I don't think so," Daphne countered, polishing her wand on her robes. "The Yule Ball is in five days' time. You can certainly hold out that long."

"I won't be able to hold out five minutes longer," said Millicent. "No, I draw the line at love potions."

"The problem with you backing out now," said Daphne. "Is Pansy. You understand that you will get Howlers every morning for the next month if you don't go through with this?"

"Howlers I can deal with. I'm not expected to kiss Howlers."

"We will have to deal with them too. They will be coming to our communal dorm," said Daphne acidly. "You do realise that Pansy will burn all of your homework for a week? Then she will transfigure your cat into something else but won't tell you what it is; again."

"Yes, yes," agreed Millicent. Pansy had transfigured Pudding into a cushion for a few days before, but it hadn't seemed to hurt the cat. "And while she is doing all of that I will be untouched by Weasley lips and it will have been worth it."

"Do you remember that time she slipped Tracey Amortentia infused cookies because Tracey ruined one of her Malfoy pranks, and Tracey snogged Neville Longbottom for a week straight?" asked Daphne.

Millicent began to reply before stopping short and blinking.

"Parkinson is not known for her forgiving nature, or for her grasp of rational thought," said Daphne. "If you pull out she will blame Tracey and I as much as she will blame you. I have no intention of letting that happen. So, take your Weasley and wait this Amortentia out, and for the love of Merlin, don't give anything away. He's going to remember all of this once the potion wears off."

Millicent snorted in disgust. "This is the worst prank ever," she said.

"Don't start it if you can't finish it," said Daphne without the slightest bit of sympathy.

Millicent puffed out a frustrated breath and they both turned as George and Tracey came back out of the store.

"Success," said George with a smile.

"I've just remembered that we have to do something else, Tracey," said Daphne with firm authority.

"Uh…" Tracey's gaze went from George to Millicent and then back to Daphne, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "Really? I thought…"

"Now, Tracey," snapped Daphne, clicking her fingers as she began walking away. "Things to do. Far, far from here."

Tracey's eyes grew wide and she hurried after Daphne without a backward glance.

Daphne evidently expected an onslaught of impassioned groping and was getting out of range before she was forever traumatised by sights that could not be unseen. Millicent wished that she could bolt as well but Daphne was right on that score. She might end up spending a week snogging one of the Weasleys if she ticked Pansy off. Or worse, Squib Longbottom. Or a Hufflepuff. It did not bear contemplation.

"So," said George, walking his fingers across Millicent's shoulders. It was a surprise that Millicent had waited for her friend, and a bit of a relief. He hadn't had time to slip a track-charm on her before he'd gone to ask for directions. "Alone at last. We should go to the Shrieking Shack. It's probably awfully romantic."

"In what reality could the Shrieking Shack be classed as romantic?" demanded Millicent, trying to shrug out from under his arm.

He pulled her in tighter and kissed her cheek. "What I meant," he whispered into her ear as he dropped a track-charm into the collar of her cloak. "Is that it will probably be awfully deserted."

Millicent did duck out from under his arm then. "I'd love to, Georgie, really," she said. "But I promised you that I'd leave you alone after a coffee."

"I don't mind if you break that promise" said George. "In fact I'd like very much for you to break that promise. We should go back to that snogging café. Why did we ever leave?"

Millicent's face lost much of its colour at that and she took a few rapid steps backwards. But she was nothing if not resourceful. "Because…it was too much for us? Uhm…sexually. Remember? We…uh…can't control our raging hormones when we're together?"

"Yes, exactly" said George. Millicent's shoulders slumped in relief. "And why should we?"

Eyes narrowing mistrustfully, Millicent backed up another step.

George nodded decisively. "Let's consummate our love."

The rest of Millicent's colour rushed away from her face, leaving her shaky and wide-eyed. George wondered whether he was close enough to catch her if she fainted. Then he wondered whether he was strong enough. "Yes," she said voice croaky with horror. "When we're married. But right now I have to go before your ardent offers tempt me to shame my family." Before he could come up with a counter-attack she turned on her heel and dashed away.

Damn it. Even when he had the advantage she could out-manoeuvre him. He sighed as she disappeared up one of the side-streets, moving much more quickly than she usually did. He'd put a tracker on her but it wasn't likely to help in this situation. Someone under Essence of Amortentia wouldn't go directly against the wishes of the object of their desire.

He turned and was about to head back to the castle when he noticed an owl sitting on a perch in a nearby café window and it occurred to him that there was one possible way to salvage this situation.


	16. Chapter 16

"Talk. Talk now."

George looked up from his coffee to find Ginny standing over him. "You'll want to sit."

He'd bought her a liquorice tea and it was still steaming when she pulled the chair out and dropped into it. She was quite impressive, his sister. She might have been sporting an assortment of twigs as hair accessories but she had made it to Hogsmeade and found the relevant café within twenty minutes of him sending the owl. The twigs probably made more sense when he took in the fact that she had her broom with her. Not exactly in compliance with school rules, but she'd likely taken precautions.

George put his cup back into its saucer. "I need a chaperone," he said.

Ginny stared at him. Finally she leant back in her chair and laughed. "Look at me, George." She swept her hands down her body and then up again. "I'm half Bulstrode's size. There is no way in Hades that I'd be able to keep her off you. Are you crazy?"

"I don't want you to keep her off me" said George, running his finger around the lip of his cup. "I want you to keep me off her."

"That is a weird thing to say," said Ginny. "Why are you saying weird things? Did she hit you in the head?"

"Let me explain."

"Why are we casually drinking tea?" demanded Ginny. "I broke about a dozen school rules to get here and that owl you sent pecked at me when I didn't undo the note fast enough. I thought that this was an emergency!"

"This is possibly the closest that I will ever come to an emergency," he agreed.

Ginny gave him an expectant look.

"This is not the sort of thing that I would usually admit under the Cruciatus Curse, but you are my sister and I trust you." He was stalling, well aware that this wasn't his finest hour. It didn't matter that Bulstrode was exceptionally talented when it came to underhanded deception; he should have been better.

"Will there be an explanation any time today?" demanded Ginny. "I could be flying or practising hexes." It was more likely that Ginny would have been sliding across the polished dorm floors in her socks, but George wisely did not point that out to her.

He gave her a stern look before downing the last of his coffee. "Even Fred," he said, pushing the cup and saucer to the side of the table. "This goes no further than me and you."

That got Ginny's attention. She sat up straighter in her seat, head tilting to the side as she watched George through narrowed eyes. "You're going to tell me something that you're going to keep from Fred?" she asked finally, voice a harsh whisper. She sounded stunned, and strangely betrayed, as though everything that she had believed about George was wrong. Then curiosity flooded through her and she leant forward in her seat, hands coming down to grip the edge of the table. "What is it?"

George leant forward too, lowering his voice as he began to explain. Ginny's eyes grew wider as he talked, but she didn't say anything until he had told her everything that he knew about the prank Bulstrode and Parkinson were playing.

Finally she smiled, raising her brows and shaking her head, a sure sign that she was grudgingly impressed. "Well, good for her."

George leant back in his seat and gave her a severe look, brows drawing together and mouth pulling into a grim line.

Ginny didn't buy his annoyance. She barely ever fell for anything he pulled on her. "Oh, don't give me that look. You're intrigued too. I mean, Parkinson? Bulstrode? Who would have guessed?"

George's face softened and he shrugged.

"It's a weird sort of a game," said Ginny. "Bulstrode making a fool of herself to freak other people out."

George nodded, absent-mindedly breaking his cookie into bite-sized chunks. "She doesn't care what the people around her think of her," he said. "I doubt she minds looking like a fool to them, because she knows she's not."

"That's pretty confident," said Ginny.

"It's practically conceited," said George. Tilting her head, Ginny watched as his fingers deftly snapped the cookie into bits. Her lips tugged upwards at the corners, eyes brightening. That look on her did not mean good things. "What?" asked George warily, glancing down at his saucer of crumbs and then back at Ginny.

Her smile grew. "This is the first time you've talked to me about a girl," she said. "Also the only time you've talked to any family member about a girl. And you're nervous."

George glanced at the saucer again before hastily dropping the rest of the cookie into it and pushing it away. It figured that Ginny had compared notes with the rest of the family on whether he had been crushing on anyone. Likely his mother called urgent meetings about it when George was asleep during the holidays. "Look, no. Don't even. This is a perfectly legitimate business discussion."

"Business?"

"Do you know how embarrassing this is?" asked George. "Fred and I are pretty much professional pranksters. We are considering going into business on the pranking front. We will likely have exploding business cards saying 'Fred and George Weasley, Pranksters Extraordinaire.'"

Ginny nodded. "And you've failed to meet the first real challenge."

George hit her across the back of the head. "Shut that lying mouth. We haven't failed. We're joining the match late, that's all. Fashionably late, you might say."

"Too far behind, I might say," Ginny corrected him, rubbing her head ruefully. Her fingers snagged on one of the twigs in her hair and she pulled it out, looking at it in surprise. "Why are you talking to me about this anyway?"

"Because I need you to help me even the playing field."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you planning on winning this game by making a fool of yourself?"

"Precisely," said George. "I've already made a good start."

Ginny laughed at him. "Sure. Why not?" she said. "What do you want me to do?"

George explained to her about Madam Puddifoot's. "So," he said, checking his watch. "I have another four hours or so to make Millicent wish she had never been born, but I need a chaperone so that she doesn't have an excuse to slip away."

Ginny made a face. "This sounds like the most unpleasant prank ever. I thought pranks were meant to be fun."

George shrugged. "I can deal with it," he said.

"I mean for me!" Ginny snapped. "All you have to do is cosy up to a witch that you're sort of interested in anyway…"

"Professional interest!" George exclaimed. "Interest purely for the sake of professional assessment."

"Whereas I have to watch my brother canoodling. This will be disgusting."

"If you do your job there won't be any canoodling. Even if you don't do your job there won't be canoodling. Bulstrode will definitely kill me before I get within a foot of her. So please, for the love of Merlin, Gin, do your job or I will die."

"Fine," said Ginny. "But we should track Creevey down first."

George waved a dismissive hand. "I don't care if those photos get out."

"You will if one of those photos shows you pouring your coffee into a vase," said Ginny. "He can keep all of the other ones."

…..

Ginny was a little like Angelina Johnson in some ways. She could be absolutely terrifying when she set her mind to it. And she set her mind to it for Colin Creevey.

They had tracked him down in Hengist Lane, pretty much the creepiest street in Hogsmeade. George was not at all surprised to find Creevey there. He fit right in with all of the eye of newt and salamander slime that the hooded vendors were peddling.

"Creevey, a word," Ginny had said, catching him by the ear and marching him to a quieter part of the street before bailing him up in one of the darkened doorways. "Photos, she said sharply, letting his ear go and holding her hand out.

Gin pretty much had this so George leant against the wall of the building and considered game-plans. It wasn't something that he was used to. Usually he and Fred thought on the go. They'd never come up against a more formidable opponent than Percy, and even Percy only told on them, gave detentions, or docked points. He, if anything, strengthened their reputation. Bulstrode was intent on shattering it.

Ginny slapped Creevey across the back of the head. "More photos," she said, tucking the ones she'd already extracted from him under her arm.

"Oww," said Creevey, rubbing his head and staring at Ginny forlornly. "Millicent Bulstrode paid for those photos. I can't just…"

Ginny hit him again. "What did they tell you about working for Slytherins in first year? What did they say would happen?"

"They said I'd get hurt," said Creevey in a small voice.

"And here you are; getting hurt," said Ginny, voice various layers of menace. "And you're about to get more hurt."

Creevey squeaked and shoved more photos at Ginny. She passed the lot of them to George. "Anything missing?"

George flicked through the pictures, pulling out the ones of him pouring his coffee into the vase. "All good," he said.

Ginny turned back to Creevey. "You remember when George poured his coffee out?" she asked. When Creevey nodded, her eyes narrowed. "That did not happen."


	17. Chapter 17

George slipped his arm through Ginny's as they headed back into the reputable part of Hogsmeade. He put his spare hand into his pocket, activating the second part of the tracker. The charm was crude. He and Fred had been meaning to refine it, but hadn't yet gotten around to it. Right now it rattled if they took the wrong direction, but the sensor was reasonably specific.

It didn't take long to track Millicent down to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall café where she tried unsuccessfully to hide in a booth behind two plump wizards who were eating cake.

"Millie darling, I was worried I'd never find you. Look, Gin's agreed to be chaperone. Isn't that lucky?" George said, slipping into the booth beside her. Ginny took the other side, effectively blocking off both Bulstrode's exits. Strategy; the Weasley's had it. "We looked for such a long time. Ginny told me to give up, but I knew that fate would find a way. And there, it has!"

Millicent drooped down into her seat like a wilting flower – or maybe a wilting Venus flytrap, she was a bit too predatory for a flower. The cheek George had kissed was rubbed raw as though she hadn't been able to scrub the filth away but had given it a damned good try.

George leant forward to run the back of his fingers across the mark but she reared back almost crushing Ginny who yelped in alarm. "My poor sugar-plum, what happened to you?" he cooed, taking no notice of his sister. Gin was clever, she could adapt.

"Nothing!" Millicent squeaked. "I mean I…uh…was hit by a letter-carrying owl and…and I want to be alone."

"When you're injured?" asked George in what he hoped was a good approximation of scandalised horror. "You could have a concussion. Those owls are so reckless!"

Ginny snorted but she at least tried to turn it into a waiter-summoning harrumph. It worked, the waiter veered around to their table.

"I…don't want you to see me like this?" Millicent tried hopefully, eyeing the space between Ginny's lap and the table as though gauging her ability to squeeze through it and to freedom.

"Nonsense, you need someone to nurse you better," said George.

Ginny leant forward, elbows coming down on the tabletop and blocking Millicent's exit as she spoke to the waiter. Millicent sighed and slumped down in her seat, forehead hitting the table moments later. She was a little like a cat really. Deliriously happy when she was playing him or Fred and pitiably morose to the point of thinking the world was over when her fun had been taken away.

George reached a hand out to stroke her hair, aware that in this too Millicent might be cat-like and his fingers might come back shredded. "You're still the most beautiful witch I've ever seen."

She made sounds of horrified protest. Really just like a cat. They went off like Howlers when they weren't happy.

Ginny rolled her menu up and smacked it sharply across George's knuckles. He yelped and pulled his hand away from Millicent's hair. "None of that," said Ginny, voice cool and eyes narrow. She wasn't going easy. George's fingers felt bruised from the impact. "Now, are either of you ordering anything?"

"I want cake," said Millicent, not bothering to lift her head from the table. "With alcohol in it. Lots and lots."

"We're out of our Firewhiskey cupcakes," said the waiter.

"I want alcohol with cake in it," said Millicent.

"How old are you?" asked the waiter.

"Not old enough," said Ginny flatly, handing her menu back. The waiter went back to the counter and Ginny turned to Millicent, who had yet to sit up. "So, Millicent," she said, tone heavy with suspicion. "George seems to have become enamoured of you quite suddenly, wouldn't you say?"

Millicent mumbled something incoherently into the table-top.

"Almost abnormally sudden – almost, you might say, magically sudden?" Ginny tried.

Millicent sighed and lifted her head finally. "I have that effect on wizards," she said. Then, looking Ginny up and down, added, "I wouldn't expect you to understand. I mean, you're not exactly the kind of witch that wizards would look at twice." Considering that Ginny could pretty much click her fingers at any wizard in Hogwarts and have them on their knees for her, George and Ginny both stared at Millicent. She glanced from one to the other. "But I'm sure you have a good personality!" she said brightly. "And I'm told that that's what counts." She sounded as though she very much doubted a personality would count for anything much and squinted at Ginny as though she wasn't sure her personality was that good either.

"Uhm…" said Ginny. George knew that she had been throwing the idea of magically induced adoration around for the sake of authenticity. The Weasley's knew each other well enough to know romantic proclivities, and either Fred or George being interested in Millicent Bulstrode would have sent up red flags. George could also tell that Ginny was genuinely flustered by the course the conversation had taken and didn't know how to get to back on track. It was a bad sign that even together George and Ginny had trouble keeping up with Millicent, but George was glad that he wasn't the only one that Millicent could throw off-course with a well-placed comment.

"Maybe they have rum n' raisin ice-cream," said Millicent, studying the bar hopefully. "Is there a spell that will get rid of the ice-cream and raisins, do you think?"

"Rum n' raisin ice-cream isn't alcoholic," said Ginny.

"I don't need alcohol," said George, leaning into Millicent. "I'm drunk off my love for you."

Both Ginny and Millicent whined in protest, Millicent shuffling closer to Ginny to get away from George.

Millicent sighed unhappily, slumping down in her seat once more.

"You could order tiramisu," Ginny suggested. "That has wine in it."

Millicent perked up at the mention of wine.

"Only about a teaspoon in each slice, but still," said Ginny, reaching for her water glass.

"I'll need more than that," said Millicent. She straightened, glancing over at the counter, eyes narrowing. Then she nodded once, decisively. "I'll seduce it out of him," she said.

Ginny spluttered her water all over the table, before turning to stare at Millicent. "Wha..?"

George choked down laughter as Millicent squeezed past Ginny and marched up to the counter. She rapped her knuckles against the polished oak to get the waiter's attention. He looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. "How can I help you?"

"I'm going to show you my cleavage," said Millicent. "And then you're going to give me a bottle of Firewhiskey."

The waiter's mouth dropped open. "Uh…sweetie, I'm gay."

Ginny almost fell out of the booth choking on laughter; George tried to smother his with his knuckles.

Millicent persevered. "My boyfriend will show you his cleavage."

George yelped in alarm but Ginny laughed harder.

"I've been in a monogamous relationship for five years," said the waiter.

"Merlin's wand, do I have to threaten you to get your Firewhiskey?"

"Ah." The waiter scratched his cheek with the nib of his quill. "We're a café, angel. We don't even have Firewhiskey."

Millicent deflated, heading back to the table with her feet dragging on the floor. "This is the worst day ever."

George gave up on holding it in and laughed at her. "Gin knows how to get alcohol," he said finally. "She doesn't need to resort to cleavage either."

"That's lucky," said Millicent. "I don't think her cleavage would get her very far."

George snorted but Ginny slapped Millicent upside the head. "My cleavage will get me just as far as yours will get you, thank you very much," she said. George could tell that she was mellowing out, her voice was complacent – almost cheerful – and she wasn't the type to play-slap at just anyone. "We need to go to the Hog's Head Inn."

It wasn't far to walk.

"Can't you tell her to get her own stash?" George asked irritably as they pushed the doors open.

"Why should I?" Ginny shot back. "It's not as though it's out of anyone's way. Besides, my grades have jumped since I started helping out."

George motioned Millicent through and let the doors close behind them. "As though anyone cares about getting good grades in divination. Why you even took the subject, I have no idea."

Ginny stuck her hand in her pocket and rummaged around before pulling out a page of parchment. She walked to the bar and laid it down.

The barman squinted at the slip. "Old Trelawney run out of juice?" he asked, pulling a bottle out from under the counter.

"You say that like it's unusual," said George dryly.

"How many bottles she want?"

"Uhm…" Ginny picked the slip up and squinted at it. "I can't read her writing. Is that a 2? Or does it just say 'a bottle'?"

"It'll be more than one. Better give you three," said the barman. "Her tab's full. She needs to pay up front."

"Yeah." Ginny pulled her hand out of her pocket again, slamming galleons down on the counter. "Did she give me enough?"

"Enough for two," said the barman and handed the two wine bottles over.

George didn't think that Millicent would be the kind of witch to appreciate Trelawney's drink of choice somehow. He creased his nose. "I can't believe people drink that nasty stuff," he said, as Ginny packed the bottles into her bag.

Ginny glanced up at him, eyes widening fractionally through her curtain of hair. This wasn't part of the script, but he could trust Ginny to get things almost as much as he could trust Fred. She didn't let him down, nodding her head. "Plonk," she agreed, tone sharp with distaste.

George snorted. "As though you'd know the difference between plonk and Clicquot." He tilted his head to the side, studying the bar in contemplation before shrugging. "To be fair, neither would Trelawney. Doubt she's ever had anything but plonk."

Ginny's expression changed, eyes darkening and mouth pulling down at the corners. "That's so sad," she said softly. She turned back to the barman. "How much is your Chateau Favre Merlot?"

"Gin, for the love of Merlin, no," protested George. "You're not upgrading her wine. She won't even know the difference, and she likes her plonk."

"It's nearly Christmas," said Ginny, pulling the bottles out of her bag and putting them back on the counter. "I think it's a nice gesture." She took out her coin-purse and passed more money across. The barman swapped the first two for two bottles of Chateau Favre, which was still not nearly fine enough for someone of Millicent's standing but, given the circumstances, would probably do.

Ginny tucked the alcohol out of sight before they left the bar. "And that's how it's done," she told Millicent as they got back onto the crowded street.

"Impressive," said Millicent.

"We upgraded for you," Ginny told her. "Usually we just drink the plonk. So, you're welcome."

Millicent laughed. Getting Ginny on board had been a good call. Millicent was more at ease with her than she would have been with Fred or Lee Jordan.

"Shrieking Shack?" Ginny asked walking ahead and twirling so that she could move backwards and watch George and Millicent.

Millicent shrugged as though she didn't much care.

"Wherever my munchkin wants to go," said George.

That made Millicent sigh, but with the promise of alcohol she didn't sound as distraught as she had in the café.


	18. Chapter 18

Drinking with two of the Weasley's was not the worst way to spend a Hogsmeade weekend, Millicent was surprised to find. The alcohol seemed to dull the effect of the essence of Amortentia on Fred, without dulling his new-found tolerance for her. So she was safe from any leaps he might make and she didn't have to torment him all day, which, despite what Pansy thought, was getting so, so old. Millicent was past ready for a whole new prank.

She told herself that this was why she wasn't trying overly hard to shock or horrify the girl Weasley. It wasn't quite true. Millicent approved of Ginny's alcohol procuring tactics and thought that horrifying her would prove counter-productive to discovering more about her special skill sets. A student who could get wine with such casual ease had to have other tricks; and Slytherins were all for finding new strategies.

When Millicent tried to ask Ginny what else she could do, Ginny was quite adamant that her skills only extended to getting alcohol. Which was smart of her. Millicent would hardly tell a Professor on another student, but there were other ways of turning information against people.

"George's the one who's good at things, really," Ginny said, elbowing her brother in the ribs. It was a bit weird that she was going along with pretending that Fred was George. She had to know he wasn't. "He knows all about tricks and things."

Rather than looking delighted to show off his purportedly amazing magical skills, Fred looked mostly caught off-guard. "Huh? Oh…uhm…no. I mean, I'm sure Millie's much smarter than me." He smiled at Millicent and Ginny gave him an irate look before taking the bottle of Merlot off him and tilting it to her lips.

Millicent studied the wintery clouds and contemplated responses. Despite the fact that the Weasley twins played around more than they studied, she had heard that they were pretty good with spell-work. "I'm best at DADA," she said. "Usually I punch people in the face until they can't speak and then they can't hex me."

Ginny stared at her but Fred snorted on laughter. "That is much smarter than me," he told her. "Usually I get hexed."

"That's quite stupid," Millicent agreed.

Fred just smiled, which sort of proved that the Essence of Amortentia hadn't worn off. "I'm better at Transfig."

There was probably a way to make Transfiguration useful. "Could you Transfigure a dragon that obliterates people who annoy me and fetches chocolate?" Millicent asked.

"You know what the problem with Slytherin is?" Fred responded.

Millicent was pretty sure that she wasn't going to get her dragon. "There is no problem with Slytherin."

Ginny was glancing from Fred to Millicent, eyes narrowed as she held onto her wine bottle a little too tightly.

"No subtlety," said Fred. He reached out a hand and tugged at something in Millicent's hair. One of her bows unravelled as he pulled, leaving him with a length of glossy green ribbon.

Millicent might not have been up on courting rituals, but she knew that hair-touching led to things and prepared to clutch at her robes and scream should Fred make an attempt on her maidenly virtue. Not that she really had all that much maidenly virtue left, but still.

He curled the ribbon around his hand, pulled his wand and began murmuring to it; voice as soothing as a lullaby. Millicent could feel the magic pull in to weave around his words; every syllable he uttered hanging heavy in the air as he stroked the ribbon.

He let out a breath that misted into the cool air and the ribbon came to life.

"There, Millie." His voice was huskier, as though the spell-work had cost him something. He held his hand out to her and part of the ribbon uncoiled from his wrist. It looked the same, just a heavy bottle-green strip of fabric an inch across; but it was moving like a snake, the first five inches upright and swaying as the two pronged edges at the end served as a tongue, tasting the air.

Millicent reached out automatically and the ribbon slid from Fred's hand to hers, twisting around her fingers as it coiled to her wrist.

"I can tie it back in your hair," Fred offered, as though it was nothing much.

Millicent clutched her ribbon-snake tighter, stroking its ribbon-head. "No…It's okay," she said, trying to sound as though a deformed ribbon had no business being in her hair. Fred smiled, and she figured she'd sort of failed on that front. "It can't bring me chocolate if it's in my hair," she said, which was a reasonable excuse, even if there was no chocolate in the immediate vicinity and she would never let a defenceless little ribbon-snake go more than five metres in search of chocolate. Anything might happen to it.

"I'm going to go over there, and vomit," said Ginny suddenly, pointing at a copse of shrubs and speaking much too loudly. "You both stay here…" She seemed to remember her role of chaperone and stared from Fred to Millicent, looking trapped. "And don't kiss," she said. "Or I'll come back here and vomit on you." She pushed herself to her feet without waiting for a reply and stumbled off, still clutching her wine bottle.

Millicent looked at Fred, brows rising. "She barely drank anything."

Colour spiked up Fred's cheeks and he stared at his hands, evidently horrified at his sister's inability to hold her drink. As well he should have been. If she'd been Slytherin they would have forced her to down Firewhiskey shots until she could either handle it, or she died.

Millicent didn't care that much. She had wine and she had Ribbon-Snake. Life was pretty damn good. She scratched her snake under the chin and it bumped its head into her fingers in what she decided was affection. If Fred was capable of making such a cute little friend, she should probably try to make him feel better about his lightweight sister. "The first time I got drunk I woke up covered in vomit."

Fred gave her a startled look. "Couldn't handle your Firewhiskey?"

"It wasn't my vomit," said Millicent.

Fred stared at her as though trying to figure out whether she was serious before breaking down and laughing. "Shit," he said. "That sounds like a wild night."

"It was okay," said Millicent.

Fred's mouth quirked up at the edges as he slanted her a sideways look. Out in the wintery sunlight with the cold wind blowing down from the North, he sort of looked cute with that ghost of a smile.

Millicent gouged her nails into her arm and focused on Ribbon-Snake. "Not quite as weird as that night I puked on Moaning Myrtle."

Fred leant back on both hands, lips still pulled up into a smile as though he found her charming. Millicent had always thought that love-potions were clunky and imperfect. They pushed a person into a state of obsession, not love. Obsession would have been good. It would have been funny and Millicent could have told the other girls about it later as they ate cinnamon stars and laughed. This odd mix of confidence and attentiveness that Fred was exuding was disconcerting. However it was that Madam Puddifoot had brewed her Essence of Amortentia, she had done a fantastic job. Millicent knew that Fred was under the control of something else, and she still sort of believed that this was real.

She shook herself sharply. "I should probably start heading back to Hogwarts," she said.

Fred glanced at her and then behind himself to where the school was hidden in the tree-line. "Don't," he said. "I mean…" He broke off, looking frustrated. "We're not due back yet."

Millicent was almost won over by that ridiculous argument, and that really meant that she had to get out of there. "I have a parchment due on Monday," she said shortly, curling Ribbon-Snake around her neck.

"I'll help you with it tomorrow," said Fred. He didn't even bother asking her the subject, as though he was confident that he'd know it no matter what.

Millicent grasped at another excuse. "Ribbon-Snake might be cold."

His eyes widened in bewilderment before they zeroed in on Ribbon-Snake, still curled lovingly to Millicent's throat. He softened visibly. "Magic doesn't last forever," he said gently, as though he wasn't sure that she'd be able to handle the imminent death of her new pet.

She covered Ribbon-Snake's head and hissed at Fred to be quiet. He could have at least waited for Ribbon-Snake to be out of hearing range to say horrible things.

"Ribbon-Snake is a terrible name," said Fred, ignoring her annoyance. "That would be like me calling you 'Flesh-Girl'. It's really unsuitable." He came across to sit beside her, not so close that he touched her, but she wouldn't have to do much more than lean to the left to touch him. "You think of a name for it; I'll keep it warm."

Millicent might have protested further, had he not already pointed out a very obvious truth. Magic didn't last forever. The Amortentia would be gone by morning. Anything before then wouldn't matter. Millicent poured Ribbon-Snake into Fred's hands. "I like Ribbon-Snake," she said.

Fred put the snake into his pocket and passed Millicent the wine bottle. "If you think that that's any sort of tolerable name, you're either too drunk or not drunk enough," he told her.

"There's no such thing as too drunk," said Millicent. "But I suffer from not-drunk-enough on a regular basis."

He leant into the few centimetres between them, obliterating them. His shoulder and ribs were warm against Millicent's arm, but she refused to lean back into him, shuffling away instead. There must have been a way to fight against part-strength love-potions. Millicent cleared her throat. "So…uhm…Angelina Johnson seems to be a practical Quidditch Captain?" she hazarded. She had no idea what kind of a Quidditch Captain Angelina Johnson was. If it weren't for the fact that she'd replaced Oliver Wood, and looked nowhere near as hot as him on a broom, Millicent might not have known that Angelina Johnson existed. But if Fred remembered that he had a super-attractive and somewhat cranky witch waiting for him back at Hogwarts he might snap out of all of this touching and smiling.

A look of surprise passed across his features, as though he really had forgotten Angelina and wasn't sure why Millicent was talking about her. "Yeah, she's pretty good," he said. He might well have been talking about his sister for all of the interest he showed in the matter.

"She's been dating Fred for quite a while, hasn't she?" asked Millicent pointedly.

Fred ruffled a hand through his hair. "I wonder where Gin is," he commented, looking around. Millicent had to hand it to him, he was sly. He was right too. Ginny had been missing for quite a while.

"Maybe she didn't want to share her wine," she suggested.

"I should find her," said Fred. He pushed himself to his feet, took two steps down the hill they were sitting on and turned back to Millicent. "I'll help you with your parchment tomorrow. In the morning?"

Millicent nodded, because it wasn't as though he would keep that promise. In the morning he would be mortified that he had made it.

He turned away from her and walked towards Hogsmeade without once looking back at her. That was good. The Amortentia must have bubbled away to nothing in his veins, and she was safe again.


	19. Chapter 19

Ginny had fetched her broom from the café she'd left it at and was walking back to Hogwarts when George caught up with her. He bumped her shoulder with his amiably, but there were too many other students heading back to the school to discuss anything. By unspoken mutual agreement the siblings veered off to the broom-sheds when they reached school grounds. This late into the chilly afternoon flying had been abandoned and the sheds were empty when George and Ginny slipped inside.

George magicked the doors locked in case anyone still wanted to come in and Ginny cast a Muffliato.

"You are terrible at pranks," she said as soon as the charm settled onto the room. "It's awful that you had your heart set on it as a career. You'll have to change it now. Maybe you should go into administration like Percy."

"Whoa. Harsh, Gin," said George, even though she wasn't being unfair.

"You were meant to be creepy," said Ginny. "You do get that, right? You were meant to channel your inner Colin Creevey."

Both George and Ginny shuddered at that notion, but Ginny was strong-willed and pushed on. "Maybe you don't know this, what with never having had a girlfriend, but genuinely listening to the girl you're talking to, giving her alcohol and not subsequently trying to get her out of her clothes, and Transfiguring adorable Slytherin emblems for her isn't creepy; it's…" Ginny broke off, forehead creasing. She looked annoyed and uncomfortable. "Okay, this is the only time that I will ever say this about a brother of mine; but it's hot."

George grinned at her, running a hand through his hair. "You think?"

Ginny laughed at him, shoving him hard in the shoulder. "Why did you even pretend that you were going to be pranking her if you just wanted to flirt, dumbass?"

"I was going to prank her," George protested. "It was going to be the pranking of a lifetime. Her great-grandchildren would not have recovered from the mortification…"

"And?" asked Ginny, holding her hands out in confusion.

"Well, you saw her," said George. "She was all flashing cleavage at the gay bartender and demanding alcoholic cake. Even you didn't know what to do with her…"

"We gave her alcohol," said Ginny. "I really don't know what else we could have done."

George smiled. "Yeah."

"Okay, no. What happened? You completely lost the game here. Millicent Bulstrode won because she was so…what? Cute?"

George swallowed hard. "Merlin, no. Cute is not a word that I would ever use to describe Millicent." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I forgot I was playing a prank," he said more quietly. "I had a game-plan. I was set on it; and then…" He shrugged, studying his hands as he tried to figure out what had happened. "I forgot it."

Ginny paused, eyes darkening as she watched him. She knew him too well. He wouldn't forget a prank unless something far more interesting had distracted him from it. Thus far in his life that had never happened; but Millicent Bulstrode was very distracting. "She thinks you're Fred, George. I mean, that's not…What are you going to do?"

George leant back against one of the lockers. "Do I have to do something?"

"Well, you like her," said Ginny. "That was disgustingly obvious from my short time as third wheel."

George folded his arms. "I'm not denying it; it just isn't relevant. This whole thing's a game to her, remember?"

Ginny rocked back on her heels, chewing her lower lip and looking worried. "That…might not be true," she said finally.

George glanced across at her sharply. She looked away, chewing her lower lip once more as though she thought that she'd said too much. "Gin?"

Ginny shook her head. "Forget I said that. I've got nothing to prove it."

George tilted his head up, scowling at her. "Ginny, you cannot say something like that and expect me to forget it. What do you mean?"

Ginny blew out a breath, looking sulky. "I didn't exactly abandon you guys at the Shrieking Shack because you were being weird and romantic. I abandoned you because she didn't seem to mind it."

George frowned at his sister. She was usually right about these kinds of things but Millicent hadn't wanted to stay on the hill with him. When he'd moved closer to her, she had definitely moved away. She'd liked the snake. That had been obvious. But she was Slytherin; a snake was their emblem. Which reminded him. He put his hand into his robe pocket and the ribbon snake curled around his fingers. He'd meant to give it back. "I don't think…" George began.

Ginny mumbled something, too indistinct for him to catch.

"What?"

"She watched your mouth," said Ginny. "Whenever you smiled. And she…When you put your hand near her she made sure to move out of the way."

"Exactly!" exclaimed George. "She was really bloody careful not to let me touch her."

Ginny puffed out a breath of pure exasperation. George had no idea what she was annoyed with him about. She'd just proved his point. "You're so stupid. If she was that careful not to touch you then it means that she was watching you that carefully."

"Yeah, and then avoiding me," said George, almost as annoyed with her as she was with him. The Slytherin girls were playing a prank. It wasn't personal, they'd just figured they could and were bored or something. Ginny didn't have to read so much into it.

She shook her head, mouth twisting wryly. "What did you expect? She thought that you were Fred, that you had a girlfriend and that you were under the influence of Amortentia. Bulstrode may be a lot of things, but we've established that she's not desperate."

George let out his breath, eyes narrowed as he watched Ginny. "Gin," he said, voice a little too sharp. "This thing has gone far enough."

"I wouldn't be telling you she was interested if I wasn't ninety percent sure that she was," said Ginny. She shrugged. "Anyway, I like her. I think that you should date someone that I like. I bet if you told Fred about this…"

"No," George snapped out at once.

Ginny cut herself off, staring at her brother.

George ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want Fred knowing anything about this." Fred would be cruel about it. George wasn't worried about Millicent. She'd be able to handle someone being mean to her, but it didn't seem to be in the spirit of the game they were playing. George shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. He'd never kept anything important from Fred.

"What…are you…" Ginny frowned, looking genuinely confused. "Would you be embarrassed about being interested in Bulstrode?"

George laughed at her. She'd managed to hit on the one truly ludicrous explanation.

Ginny relaxed, mouth curving into a smile. "You like knowing something that Fred doesn't," she said. And yeah, there was a little of that in there. "Okay. So, she thinks that you were Fred under the influence of Amortentia. You could always Polyjuice again. I could keep Fred busy and…" she broke off when George shook his head at her, smiling sadly.

"How long do you think that will last?"

Ginny huffed out a breath as she considered how messed up it would get. Millicent thinking that Fred was trying to cheat on Angelina with her; she'd probably end up beating the crap out of him – or worse, confronting the real Fred.

"How about I take a day or two and try to work it out," said George.

Chewing her lower lip, Ginny nodded her agreement. Her forehead was creased in the centre, eyes a little narrower than usual. George was going to have to find some way to work this out. If he didn't there was no doubt that Ginny would, and her methods could be scary.

It was more a fear of Ginny's methods than any belief in her idea that Millicent Bulstrode was affected that had George fronting up at the Slytherin dungeons the next morning. He didn't Polyjuice as Fred this time. As he raised his hand to knock, the wall opened on its own.

Crabbe stood in the entrance, looking a little surprised to see a Gryffindor in his territory.

George scowled. "Is Bulstrode in?" he asked, probably more roughly than strictly necessary.

Crabbe's face lit up, a smile settling across his features. "I knew you'd come back," he said, tapping the side of his nose. "It's just like Romeo and Juliet, you know. A love forbidden by man and nature."

"You're scaring me," said George. "Please stop."

Crabbe stepped aside and George sidled past him into the Common Room.

"Treachery!" screeched a voice.

Crabbe jumped two feet in the air and then spun around like a startled bunny. Malfoy had evidently just come up from the boys' dorm and was staring at Crabbe in horror. "You beast!" he cried, snatching up the nearest vase and hurling it at his cowering minion. "Letting that – that scoundrel in here when you know that he's being playing with our poor, delicate Millie all this time! How could you, Crabbe?"

Crabbe whimpered, scurrying for the safety of nearby couches and hiding behind them as Malfoy grabbed another vase and stalked him. On further reflection George wasn't sure that they were vases. There was a line of them on the mantelpiece – most of them dinted – and each of them had names engraved into the metal. George was pretty sure that they were urns. Trust Slytherin to keep dead things in their Common Room.

"I'll just go find Bulstrode on my own then," George said, motioning vaguely for the stairs.

He chose the staircase that Malfoy hadn't come up earlier. It seemed to be right. Halfway down one of the second years flung herself into his path. "This is the girl's dorms!" she screeched, pulling her dressing gown closed and staring at him in horror. "Do you not know that it is sacrilege to interrupt a lady before she is prepared?"

"What are you, twelve?" asked George. "What kind of twelve year old talks like that?"

The girl stamped her foot. "I will scream," she announced.

George edged past her, picking up the pace to put some distance between them.

A little further down he came across Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davies, both of them giggling unstoppably and leaning against a heavy wooden door, still dressed in frothy little nighties.

"Millie's not ready yet," said Tracey.

"But she'll be so glad to see you," cooed Daphne.

"She said that your date was amazing yesterday," said Tracey.

They were walking around him, subtly cutting off his escape route as they talked.

George shifted backwards but Daphne moved in, leaning against him and smiling. "It was all she could talk about," she purred as George tried to figure out how he could move without her toppling over.

He couldn't, he decided, and that was probably the point. Tracey moved in from the other side, also leaning into him. "Did you kiss her?"

George rotated his shoulder, trying to shake them off. He had the feeling they'd done this before; neither of them budged. "Look, I might come back later," he said, pushing back against Daphne. She remained firmly in place.

"Do you like Creselda Naughtley?" asked Tracey. "I hope you like Creselda Naughtley. Millicent is set on her as the singer for her wedding."

"She's been talking about it all night. So romantic, don't you think?" murmured Daphne.

George's great-aunt Muriel listened to Creselda Naughtley. She was so sickly sweet that even his mother shunned her. Before George could respond, the wooden door opened.

Pansy looked up at him and smiled her sharp, cold smile. "Millie's ready," she said and stepped out into the hall.

George shook the two Slytherin girls off, and this time they retreated gracefully, though they still made sure to block his options for retreat. George squared his shoulders and walked into the dorm room.

Millie was sitting in one of the beds, hair askew, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

For a moment George's gaze snared on her, like she was a bramble bush he'd pushed through only to find himself caught. The moment passed and he glanced away, looking at the room she shared with the other girls. That was a momentous mistake. It became blindingly clear to George in an instant that no matter how many pranks he had played before, he was not prepared for this one.

Just as he spun around and began heading back for the door, however, it slammed shut.


	20. Chapter 20

Sunday was meant to be a good day. Millicent had spent her Saturday dealing with Weasleys. Sunday was meant to be full of sleep-ins and hair-pulling fights over who got the best shower cubicle and late breakfasts of honey melting on buttered crumpets.

It was not meant to start with Pansy pulling at her hair at eight in the morning and screaming at her to wake up while upstairs Draco Malfoy threw the urns of dead Slytherin staff members at someone and yelled at them about betrayal. When Millicent refused to budge, Pansy sat on her and began painting her face while Tracey and Daphne flitted about giggling and doing something that Millicent was sure that they could have done silently.

The door slammed open some moments later and Astoria flung in. "He's on his way down here. I'll hold him off for a while," she declared and flung out again.

"Greengrass, Davies," said Pansy and both girls skipped out into the hall, still giggling.

Pansy kept working away for a while before finally slapping Millicent soundly around the face. "Your Weasley's here," she said. Then she jumped lightly off the bed and headed for the door.

Millicent sat up finally, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. This was too much. Today was a Weasley free day. If Pansy wanted entertainment then she was going to have to go up to the Common Room and watch Draco throw urns at Weasley. Millicent had no intention of joining them.

The door slammed and she looked up. One of the Weasley twins was in the room. She couldn't tell which one because he was facing away from her and banging on the door. That gave her a bit more insight. Fred had been okay with her the day before, but that had been the Amortentia. George was broken and never tried to get away. So evidently this was Fred. Millicent had no idea how Pansy had lured him down to the dungeons at this ungodly hour, and didn't much care. She was too tired for this.

"For Merlin's sake, please try to escape quietly," she whined, dropping back onto her bed, scowling at him.

The Weasley froze and then turned around slowly, as though he expected that moving too quickly would make her lunge. Millicent almost laughed at him. At this hour a pile of Honeydukes would not make her lunge.

"You need to keep your distance," the Weasley warned, sliding behind Daphne's armchair for protection.

Millicent yawned and turned onto her back. A huge Weasley face smiled down at her. Millicent blinked. The Weasley face was still there. Millicent sat up slowly, looking around. Every wall of her dorm was covered in enlarged photos of Weasley twins. The ones of them pulling their shirts off after Quidditch practice, the ones of them relaxing in the Gryffindor Common Room, or flying. The biggest one was the one attached to the ceiling right above Millicent's bed.

Millicent pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to smother a smile. So this is what Daphne and Tracey had been up to when they had been giggling earlier. This was probably why Fred was hiding behind Daphne's armchair.

Raking her hair out of her face, Millicent glanced across at him. He was leaning against the high back of the chair, trying to look nonchalant. It took Millicent a moment to realise that his freckles weren't aligning themselves into the right pattern. There were too many of them, and on his cheek was a configuration that wove itself into the shape of a heart. This wasn't Fred. It was George. Although evidently a not-broken George, as he seemed to be quite determined to get away from her.

"It would be lovely if you could get your friends to open the door," he said. He frowned at her, eyes narrowing. "I'm here against my better judgement, trying to keep the promise I made you…" he said and trailed off as though he wasn't quite sure how to end that sentiment.

Millicent stared at him, wondering what he was talking about.

"There's a parchment," he said, waving a hand. "You're meant to have a parchment. I was told – I mean, by you. You told me that there was a parchment."

"What parchment?" demanded Millicent.

George threw his hands up in frustration. "Merlin knows." He broke off, scowling at her as though he blamed her for the fact that he was there. Then he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "I mean, I can't remember what subject you said it was on. But I promised to help you with it. So here I am."

Millicent finally remembered. Fred had promised to help her with her imaginary parchment, not George. Fred had also been high on Amortentia and couldn't have possibly thought that Millicent would expect him to keep that promise. She frowned at George. He looked annoyed and uncomfortable about the whole thing, not venturing out from behind the chair even when it was obvious that Millicent was in no mood for pouncing.

Fred must have told him to take over. That – was actually a relief. After the previous day, Millicent definitely did not need any more close-to-Fred-Weasley time. He was too – too – well, something. Millicent had always wondered why someone as gorgeous as Angelina Johnson would lower themselves to a Weasley twin. They weren't pretty and there were two of them so they weren't even unique. And now? Well, she didn't really wonder that anymore. Fred had this disconcerting way of…

Damnit. She didn't even know what it was. He just wasn't flashy when it was him, Ginny and her. But Millicent wasn't going to think about that.

She tilted her chin up at George. "Right, my Potions parchment. Pansy and Theo helped me finish it last night," she said. "So, I guess that you can go? I mean, you should probably go." That probably wasn't a very romantic thing to say so Millicent batted her lashes at the Weasley. "Or I'm afraid we'll get carried away in this great, big, empty bedroom."

George scowled at her, but the last several days of her coming on to him must have toughened him to such practises. "Good," he said and stalked back to the door.

It was locked. And warded. Every spell George flung at it just bounced off.

He swore finally and went across to throw himself on Tracey's bed, muttering something that sounded like, "Worst weekend ever."

Millicent agreed, but for very different reasons. She had found awesome drinking partners – who she would likely never drink with again, lost Ribbon-Snake and was now stuck in her dorm with a boy that looked almost like the boy that she would have infinitely preferred. Only she would have fed all of her fingers to a Hippogriff before admitting any of that. She wished that Fred had sent Ginny along with George. That might have salvaged this horror of a weekend.

Millicent sat up on her bed and pushed herself against the bed-head, darting occasional cross glances at George as she tried to decide whether it was safe to go back to sleep with him there. Even unprepared he probably had a few pranks at his disposal and she didn't particularly relish the idea of waking up with a different nose or a tail.

He didn't seem tired, which made her think that there was something seriously wrong with him. What kind of a person got out of bed before ten on their day off? It was unnatural. But there he was; humming tunelessly as he played with a bit of ribbon.

The ribbon curled around his fingers, gliding on its own and Millicent jumped up. "Ribbon-Snake!" she exclaimed, running over.

George yelped and scooted back on the bed so fast that he hit the head-board. As though Millicent would ever lunge at him. She scoped Ribbon-Snake off his knuckles and cupped it in her hands, hugging it to her chest. She didn't know whether Fred had given it George to give back to her, or whether George had found it in Fred's things and taken it. That didn't matter. What mattered was that Millicent had Ribbon-Snake back.

"My poor little girl," she cooed. "I thought you were lost."

"Uh…. Pretty sure it's not a girl – or a boy. You know, being that it's a ribbon," said George, brow creased as he watched her.

"Of course it's a girl," said Millicent, wrapping Ribbon-Snake around her wrist. "She's little Ribbon-Snake. And I love her, because you made her for me." She tacked the last on the end out of spite for the Weasley daring to suggest that Ribbon-Snake was an inanimate object.

He stared at her, mouth dropping open. "I did not!" he exclaimed before scowling and looking a little horrified all at once. "Did I? Why would I..?" He broke off, face closing off as though he was trying to figure out why his brother would do something like that. Millicent didn't bother filling him in on the Amortentia aspect of her time with Fred. Instead she cooed to her snake as it pushed its nose into her.

"Ribbon-Snake is a terrible name," said George finally.

Millicent sat down on the edge of Tracey's bed and frowned at him. She was starting to think that he and Fred weren't twins at all, but clones or something. And she was hardly going to take advice on names from someone called Weasley.

He reached out and picked Ribbon-Snake up again, fingers gentle as though he did think she was a snake even though he said that he didn't. She curled into his palm like she belonged there. He stroked her ribbon body with a finger, turning his hand so that he could see her properly. "Slug," he said finally.

"You are not calling my snake Slug!" Millicent exclaimed.

"It's better than your stupid name," said George. "What the hell are you going to do with the name Ribbon-Snake? Seriously, that's too long a name to call out every time you wanted her and then what will you do? Shorten her name to Ribs? That's awful. Or will you just call her Snake like you're such a bad owner that you can't be bothered to think up a real name for your pet?"

Millicent might have been annoyed about George insulting her name if he didn't sort of have a point. "Nicknames are important," she admitted.

George held his hands out in an I-told-you-so gesture, careful not to upset Ribbon-Snake. "Slug can be Slugger when you're feeling affectionate. And the puns! Let me tell you about the puns."

"No puns," said Millicent. "No one likes puns."

George shrugged and looked down at the ribbon snake who was curled up and probably sleeping. He poked her finally, mouth pulling up into a sharp grin. "Are you feeling sluggish? Do you want to sluggle?"

Millicent picked Tracey's pillow up and walloped him across the face so hard that he fell backwards off the bed. He hit the floor laughing and swearing in equal measures. Millicent remembered that he had Ribbon-Snake and crawled forward on Tracey's bed, peering over the side.

She needn't have worried. George had Ribbon-Snake on his chest and was stroking her gently, not bothering to get back up. He was wearing that same barely-there smile that Fred had the previous day as though it wasn't enough that they shared a face; they had to share expressions as well. "Fuck me, your owner just slugged me," he said, voice full of wry amusement.

Millicent snickered, and then cut herself off abruptly and scowled.

"I'm going to need a slug of Firewhiskey," George mused.

Millicent pressed her lips together, glowering at him and determined not to laugh.

George grinned up at her finally. "That's it. I'm all out of slug puns."

Millicent creased her nose. "Puns are generally terrible, but I think that you somehow managed to make them even worse," she said.

"I think Slug liked them though," replied George, tickling Ribbon-Snake's head. Millicent hated to admit it, but Slug was growing on her. She had never been good at naming things. Her last cat had been stuck with the moniker Cat-Cat. Pansy had thankfully prevailed when Millicent had gotten Pudding, and had hexed Millicent until she agreed to hand over naming rights. If she hadn't Pudding would likely be sporting the name Cat-Cat II.

George stretched, still not bothering to get up off the flagstone floor. He really must have been getting immune to the terror of Millicent's amorous pursuit because he didn't look at all worried about her being on the bed, close enough to touch him.

"Can you open the door?" he asked.

Millicent could hazard a guess at the spell Pansy had used to seal them in, and she knew the counter-spell, but George mostly expected dumb from her. And Pansy would be a pain all day if Millicent let him escape. Even more of a pain than being trapped in the dorm with the broken twin. Millicent shook her head.

"Huh." George didn't sound as worried by that as he should have. "Did you know that at least half of the photos you have up are of Fred, not me?"

Millicent glanced over her shoulder at the decoupage of Weasley flesh. "How can you tell?"

George shrugged. "I'm the hot one."

"You're about even," said Millicent.

George ignored that. "Are you going to take the photos of him down?" he asked.

"No," said Millicent. "You really should come as a matching set, and I still intend to collect you both."

That only seemed to amuse him. "You're not at all worried that that might send me into a jealous rage?"

Millicent shook her head. "Boys fight over me all the time."

That made George laugh when he should have been horrified. It was becoming horrifically clear that Normal-George was pretty much an exact replica of Amortentia-Fred. "Let's do something," he said, sitting up finally. "Have you got any potion ingredients lying around?"


	21. Chapter 21

None of the Slytherin girls were the sort to keep Potions ingredients lying around, and George seemed to think less of Millicent for it.

"But what if you need a Dreamless Sleep Potion at the last minute?" he asked.

"Why would I need a Dreamless Sleep Potion?" asked Millicent. "I like my dreams."

George smirked, raising one eyebrow at her in obvious innuendo. He was still sitting on the floor and leant forward to rest an elbow on his knee, as though moving toward Millicent when she spoke was the most natural thing in the world.

It had to stop. Millicent smiled at him. "I've been having all sorts of dreams about you," she purred.

He didn't recoil; only smiled back. "I don't blame you. I'm damn sexy."

Millicent laughed before cutting herself short. This wasn't how it was meant to go. She was meant to say terribly suggestive things and he was meant to crawl up the walls trying to get away. She was being suggestive, damn it. His mind should have broken and he should have been rocking back and forth under a bed somewhere.

It was clear that Millicent should have ignored George and waited until Fred was available for teasing. At least only Amortentia-Fred was hot. Amortentia-Fred also wore off to become Hilariously-Screaming-Normal-Fred. Normal-George didn't wear off; and now he was being sort of hot too.

"Do you keep spare Howlers around? We could send them to people on a prank," George suggested, curling Slug around his neck.

"Slytherins don't use Howlers," said Millicent.

"Right, not sophisticated enough for you lot."

"And also not useful," said Millicent. "If someone upsets us, we eviscerate them."

He grinned as though he approved. "Unfortunately eviscerating people on a prank isn't funny," he said. "So we'll have to think of something else."

"It sort of depends on which people you eviscerate," said Millicent.

George shrugged. "You choose a prank then," he said.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but we're trapped in my dorm. Pranking options are pretty non-existent."

"The problem is that you have no imagination," said George. "There's always a way."

"Sure," said Millicent. "I could send Slug through the air ducts and she could sneak attack unsuspecting Hufflepuffs and bite them repeatedly in the neck, but what's the point? I don't get to see it happening."

"Uh…I don't think that setting a snake on someone constitutes as a prank either. Especially if repeated neck biting is involved."

"Are you joking? That would be hilarious."

"Couldn't do it anyway," said George, curling Slug around his hand. "They might hurt Slugger."

"That's why you'd set her on Hufflepuffs," Millicent explained. "They have no defence mechanisms."

He laughed at her. "Alright. Pranks are out then. So what?"

Millicent chewed her lower lip. This whole thing was getting just a little too comfortable, but she didn't know what to do to reverse it. She sat up on the bed and glanced down at her hands – which were smeared with black. Millicent frowned, considered what she'd been doing the previous night and couldn't account for it. She looked at Tracey's sheets, which were as pristine white as they always were.

"Yeah," said George, ruefully as he got up and plonked himself back down on Tracey's bed. "Your mascara's a little smudged."

Millicent remembered that Pansy had attacked her with things that had felt like brushes while she'd been trying to sleep. "Hn," she said and stood up to sidle across to Daphne's mirror. 'A little smudged' was a euphemism. Mascara clogged Millicent's lashes and smeared across her top and bottom eyelids. One of her cheeks was done up in blush; Pansy must have run out of time to do the other. And her mouth was a hideous shade of red that made her look as though someone had cast a severing charm across her face.

"It's not smudged," Millicent told George, wiping her hands on Daphne's towel. "It's the smoky-eye look. That's what I was going for."

He nodded as though this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

It was so unfair. Weasley should have been cowering in the corner and screaming like a banshee if she approached him. This made no sense.

Millicent went back to sit on Tracey's bed and held a hand out for Slug.

George unwound her from his neck and handed her over without protest. "No alcohol hidden around here?" he asked, reaching for a scroll on Tracey's dresser.

Millicent shook her head, as she curled Slug around her neck. The Slytherin girls weren't disciplined or stupid enough to keep alcohol in their dorm more than a night. Their parents would probably be able to talk the school out of an expulsion if they were caught, but a Slytherin would never live down the humiliation of being caught for something as banal as under-age drinking.

"Pity," said George, folding Tracey's parchment back and forth. "If you had Potions ingredients we'd be able to make a few doses of Demitto Dubium. It doesn't get you drunk, but it subdues inhibitions so sort of the same thing."

That was a whole new bizarre conversation that George should not have been having with Millicent. The last thing he should have wanted was to be around her with lowered inhibitions; unless he hoped that he'd be better able to dump her in that state.

"We could try something unconventional," George suggested, though he didn't sound sure about it.

Millicent perked up. She liked things that were out of the ordinary. "Like?" she prompted.

He shrugged, brow furrowed and concentrating a little too intensely on the scroll that he was folding. "Well, we barely know each other, do we? How about you tell me a random fact about yourself? And then I'll tell you something about myself."

This wasn't the sort of unconventional thing that Millicent liked; but they were stuck in a room together and would be for the foreseeable future. "Alright," she said. "What kind of random fact?"

George waved a hand as though he hadn't considered what information he wanted. That was very Gryffindor of him. Slytherins would be playing a game like this with far more cunning. "Anything. Whatever comes to mind."

George didn't have any information that Millicent wanted. Now that he was here though, she was curious. About his personality more than anything. She took a breath. "I will lie during this game," she said.

He spluttered indignantly. "That defeats the whole purpose. I'm not expecting you to spill your innermost secrets here."

Millicent smiled wryly and shrugged.

He huffed out an annoyed breath. "Fine. What's your random fact?"

"I just told you," said Millicent. "I will lie during this game."

He shook his head, a smile touching his mouth. "Bloody Slytherins. Alright, let's see. Uhm…mum used to check our room sometimes when we weren't there so Fred and I made a game of leaving incriminating things around. We scored points based on how mad she got."

"Things like used contraceptive charms?" asked Millicent.

"Please, we were only twelve. We pilfered a half bottle of Fire-Whiskey and let her find it though."

"That sounds like a terrible idea," said Millicent. "You would have been grounded for months. And what kind of dumb twelve year old wouldn't drink the Fire-Whiskey?"

George smiled at her, stretching out like a cat. "Well, obviously there's more to the story than that, but I've given you my fact. Your turn now."

Millicent stared at him. "You can't leave it there," she said.

"Watch me," said George. "Now, what's your fact?"

He was trying to draw her in and leave her wanting more information than he gave. Millicent wondered whether this was payback for her saying that she'd lie. Either way it was not to be borne. She pressed her lips together and considered what random fact would most upset the Weasley. "Okay, I've thought about this for a long time, and discussed it with most of my friends and we think it would be best to have sex after the ball."

His mouth fell open. "What? You..? You discussed this with your friends?"

"Such a romantic idea, don't you think?" cooed Millicent.

"Not really," said George. "What if I don't feel like it after the ball? Or you don't feel like it after the ball? It's not exactly spontaneous."

Millicent really didn't know what had gone wrong, but it was obvious that her prank was broken. If George was insisting on talking to her like she was a rational being and acting like his invitation to the ball had been real then there wasn't much she could do about it. She sighed and slumped back against the foot of Tracey's bed. "Your turn."

George ran his gaze across her. "You're not how I thought you'd be," he said, voice soft, and strangely content.

He was insane. She had been wearing clown make-up and trying to force him into a relationship every time she had seen him for the past week. He shouldn't have been looking at her like she'd surprised him – and like he approved. It was mental. Millicent wriggled uncomfortably. "How did you think I'd be?" she asked.

That made George smile; a quick, sharp curl of the mouth that made Millicent brace herself. "Your turn."

It killed Millicent that he was playing the game fairly without lying and was out-doing her when she had lies to fall back on. She lifted her chin. "I have a birthmark shaped like a butterfly."

"A butterfly?" George sounded deeply sceptical.

"Pink butterfly," said Millicent morosely. "Don't tell anyone."

"I call bullshit," said George. "There's no such thing as a butterfly-shaped birthmark."

"Seriously? Why would I make up something as horrible as a butterfly birthmark? That's something a Hufflepuff should get. I'm going to tattoo over it as soon as I legally can."

"Show me," said George.

Millicent sighed, but spun so that her legs were over the edge of the bed and began rolling the hem of her nightrobe up. George moved over to sit beside her, watching her curiously. The birthmark wasn't far up. It was on the side of her knee, no larger than a Galleon.

"Huh," said George, reaching out a hand. He brushed the rough pad of his thumb across the rose-tinted skin. "That really doesn't suit you."

"Tell me about it," said Millicent. "Butterflies are so…"

"Delicate?" suggested George.

"I was going for stupid, but same thing."

"I have the Orion constellation set into my freckles," said George.

"With the sheer number of freckles you have I'd be surprised if you didn't have all of the constellations set out somewhere," said Millicent.

"You're welcome to check." George's voice was languidly amused rather than suggestive so Millicent didn't scream in horror and rush to hide under her bed.

She smirked instead. "Nice try. Does that line work very often?"

George stared at her before snorting. "Precious, I don't need any lines. I just take off my shirt and do a little peck dance and the witches start lining up. Some wizards too, usually."

Laughter spluttered out of Millicent. There was nothing she could do about it, and when she tried to stop she ended up laughing so hard that her eyes started watering. Then George started taking his shirt off to show her the peck dance and she thought that she would never breathe again and would die of laughter.

She must have scared him too, because he stopped unbuttoning his shirt and reached out to stroke her hair. "It's okay. You should really – uh – breathe. Breathe, Mill." He was too close and when he ran his fingers through her tangled hair she wound up in the curve of his arms. That stopped her laughter when nothing else had, but now she was breathless for a whole other reason. He let her sag against him and she dragged in a ragged breath.

He sighed in relief, resting his chin on her head.

This had to stop. Millicent had never let a prank pull itself out of her control before, and she wasn't about to start now. She drew in another breath and George rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

Before she could freak herself out, Millicent turned in his arms and kissed him.

He froze, fingers going rigid on her shoulder and body tensing against her. Thank Merlin. He was going to flip the hell out and the prank would be back on track. Millicent grazed her teeth across his lower lip. He leaned into her, mouth opening to allow her access.

She almost lost herself to mindless panic but his hand curved to her face, the other one trailing along her spine. The boy knew how to kiss. Hell, the Weasley knew how to kiss. It was wrong and unnatural and Millicent would put an end to it…soon.

She nipped at the corner of his mouth and he made a soft sound – like a purr – that reverberated through her. She figured she'd give it a few more minutes.

There was a commotion outside the door and Millicent jerked away from George. He was wearing her scar-red lipstick and Millicent's first thought was that he looked adorable when she really should have thought that he looked stupid.

She pulled her wand and his eyes went wide. "Hey!"

She cast a cleansing charm before he could finish the thought. The lipstick vanished just as the dorm room door opened.

"Greengrass!" Pansy was wailing as though someone had cheated her cruelly.

"No! I'm not wearing lingerie to Hogsmeade, Pansy! It's snowing out." Daphne stalked across to her dresser, still dressed in her frothy nightie.

"I'd better go," said George. He didn't sound as though he regrated anything and Millicent wanted to strangle him for ruining a perfectly good prank. He turned to her. "I'll see you before the ball," he said, then tilted his head. "Pink corsage?"

Millicent licked her dry lips and nodded numbly. It was official; this prank was screwed.


	22. Chapter 22

George's mouth was still tingling when he got back to the Gryffindor Common Room. A red streak descended as soon as he climbed through the portrait entrance.

"There you are! Where have you been?" Ginny demanded. She was talking fast, which meant that something had gone down since he'd last seen her. George wasn't sure he was up for any more developments today. Either way, she didn't wait for him to answer. "I fixed everything," she said.

George clutched a hand to his chest. Ginny and the words 'I fixed everything' could only ever end in disaster. "What have you done?" he demanded.

She smirked at him. "Don't look at me like that. This time I really have sorted it all out. I wrote to mum…"

"You involved our mother?" George practically screeched. "Jesus, Ginny! Which owl did you use? Can we send a faster owl to take it down?"

"It's fine," said Ginny, voice soft and soothing even though nothing was fine. Nothing was ever fine when Ginny tried to fix things. "I wrote to mum and told her that you'd been a little morose after the lunch with Bulstrode and that I wasn't sure you felt supported because your girlfriend was in Slytherin. So I suggested that mum and dad ask the Bulstrodes to dinner with you and Millicent. There. All fixed. It was easy."

"You were meant to wait a few days. You remember that, right? You were meant to see whether I could sort this on my own?"

Ginny shrugged. "When you avoided me all day I figured that you were trying to get out of that deal."

George let out a long sigh. "I wasn't avoiding you, Gin. I was locked in a room with Bulstrode. For hours."

"Oh," said Ginny. She creased her nose. "That sort of sounds like you were making progress on your own."

George leant against the wall by the entrance and banged his head back into it a few times.

"How was I meant to know?"

"You weren't," said George. "That was why you were meant to wait."

"That was boring," said Ginny. "Anyway, I think this dinner thing will work out."

George shuddered. "Mum thinks that Bulstrode and I are screwing. There's no way that this will be anything but a disaster."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "Mum thinks…What? Wait…No, what?"

George frowned at her, rubbing his hands through his hair. "I told you about that, right? Did I miss that part?"

"I think I'd remember it if you'd told me! What the hell?"

George laughed a little hollowly. "Bulstrode," he said, "actually is that good. Five seconds flat."

"How?" demanded Ginny. "You knew what she was playing at. How did you lose control of that situation?"

George arched his back against the wall, pushing himself up. "She runs circles around me."

Folding her arms across her chest, Ginny nodded decisively. "Then you need to up your game. This dinner will be a good thing. Use it to catch up."

"Catch up?" George laughed again. "Has it occurred to you that I'll be at a distinct disadvantage? Our parents will be there…"

"So will hers," said Ginny. "If she can use ours, you can use hers."

"Use hers to what, Gin? I'm not playing a prank on her, remember? I'm just getting to know her using slightly unconventional methods."

"I'm not convinced that there's a difference," said Ginny. "I mean it's going to play out the same way, isn't it? You're blocking her prank and you never really miss a chance to have fun so it's pretty much going to turn into a game."

"It's messy," said George. "If I'm trying to double the prank back on her and play her at her own game and she figures it out…"

Ginny scratched the corner of her mouth with the back of her thumb. "What's the alternative?"

George shook his head as he studied the wall behind his sister. "Maybe it would be better to come clean about the whole thing. You know, let her know what I know and go from there."

Ginny snorted. "That's the most ridiculous thing that you have ever said, and you've said some pretty ridiculous things."

"What?" asked George. "If she figures this out she's going to be pissed…"

"Uh, no," said Ginny. "She likes pranks, remember? If you tell her about this before it ends it's literally like you're saying that you don't think that she can keep up with you. No one would appreciate that."

George grinned. "You think I should beat her at her own prank?"

"No mercy," said Ginny. "And play dirty. You can be sure that she will."

George tilted his head forward in acknowledgement.

"How was it today, anyway?" asked Ginny.

George had been trying not to think about that. It was too weirdly confusing. "She kissed me," he said. "But I'm pretty sure that it was part of the prank. Is it wrong to think that a prank kiss is good?"

"It's pathetic," said Ginny. "Please admit this to no one else. I still want to be able to speak to you in public."

George laughed, relieved that Ginny was treating the matter so casually. He wished that he could think about it just as casually. It sort of made his stomach churn though. The kiss had been part of the prank. He knew that; and that was the problem. If Millicent Bulstrode was willing to go that far to salvage a prank that was going bad then he should probably straight up beg her to marry him. He'd never find someone else who suited him that well.

* * *

Millicent was ready to give up on the prank. It was dead. She accepted that. If she escaped without being drawn into another kiss with George Weasley, she would count herself lucky.

Pansy had very different plans.

"I've done it," she said, rushing through the dorm with all of the energy and grace of a stampeding Minotaur. Millicent thought that she was trying to do something, but she was overcome with excitement and was mostly running around aimlessly.

It was probably a good thing. It meant that Pansy hadn't noticed that awkward exchange before the Weasley left. Hopefully she wouldn't notice the heated blush that had invaded Millicent's face.

"What have you done?" asked Millicent.

Pansy stopped and turned to look at her, as though she had forgotten that she was there. "Oh,"' she said. "I've gotten Granger to help. With the prank." She added the last as though she thought that Millicent would think that this was about something other than the prank; which meant that it so was.

Millicent narrowed her eyes.

Pansy caught the look and glared back at her. "You look like a panda," she said. "Except that pandas are cute and you're like the opposite right now. That should have worked very well. Will he be too traumatised to speak, do you think? It would be hilarious if we could get him to communicate in whimpers for the next month. Let's aim for that."

Millicent let the matter of Pansy's dedication to the prank slide, but she wasn't about to admit to her utter failure to disturb George Weasley. "How is Granger helping with the prank?"

Usually when talking pranks, Pansy's eyes lit up. Right now her whole face lit up. This was definitely about her crush. "She's letting us into the Gryffindor Common Room. She says it serves those nasty twins right if they're going to play such a cruel prank. And it does too."

"They didn't play the prank," Millicent pointed out. She considered the matter. "It does serve them right for falling for the prank though. It's not very admirable."

Pansy shrugged. "Whatever. I don't care. The point is that we're going in to the Gryffindor Common Room!"

Millicent raised an eyebrow at her. A little bit belatedly, Pansy exclaimed, "For the prank!"

For a prank, Pansy spent an absurd amount of time getting ready. She decided on an expensive crimson and gold brocade set of robes that clung to every curve. Then she sent for Astoria and her make-up kit.

"Sedate," she ordered as Astoria unpacked brushes. "But tempting."

Millicent settled for Tracey as a make-up artist. It wasn't a bad thing. Tracey didn't have steady hands or any sort of eye for colour, so Millicent ended up looking more hag-like than usual.

It was good that she had to sit still and keep her face blank as Tracey worked. It kept her from having to worry that her doubts were written clearly in her expression. They wouldn't be going to the Gryffindor Common Room until after dinner but that still seemed too soon. There was going to be fall out and Millicent had no idea how to handle it. Didn't even know how she felt about it. It was lucky that Pansy was only going for her crush, because Millicent didn't know how she'd deal with seeing George Weasley again. Maybe she could track Fred Weasley down instead and forget that whole kissing thing entirely.

Pansy turned in her seat as Astoria put the final pins into her hair. "Done?" Her voice was flat and cold as though this really was a prank mission and nothing else.

Millicent rose and walked across to her. She ruffled a hand through Pansy's perfect coif, until it was mussed and looked as though she had woken that way.

"Hey!"

"Leave it," said Millicent, studying Pansy's face in the vanity mirror. "You don't want them to know you're interested."

Pansy touched one hand to her hair. "I don't know what you mean," she said, but she didn't redo her hair.

It was obvious that the prank was forgotten the moment Pansy reached the Gryffindor Common Room that night. She swept her gaze across Granger when they were let in and nodded curtly, eyes hard and cold as she watched the Muggle-born. Once in, she took in her surroundings with clinical reserve. Her eyes landed on Potter and she looked no further, making a bee-line for him.

She curled up on the desk that Potter was leaning against, swinging her legs as she watched him. He was looking imploringly to Hermione, evidently at a loss as to how to react to being swamped by evil Slytherins. Hermione, however, seemed to be in a heated whispered argument with Ronald Weasley and had no time left over for Potter.

Millicent crossed to Pansy and Potter. She could have looked for her twin, but that hadn't worked out so well for her the last few times.

"I wouldn't worry," said Pansy, voice silky smooth as she kicked her shoes off and watched Granger and Weasley. "They can't last long. I mean, he's not very smart, so I'm sure that Granger's getting sick of him even as we speak."

"What? They're not together," said Potter, turning to frown at her.

"Oh," said Pansy. She tilted her head, studying Hermione and Ron for a moment. "Yeah, I knew that that didn't make any sense. But you three are always together so it had to be one or…" she broke off, eyes widening as she turned to stare at Potter. It was so horribly obvious what she was doing that Millicent raised her eyebrows at her in disbelief. Pansy ignored her and pressed on. "You know that you could do better, right? I mean, you're actually an actual hero and, no offence to Granger, I'm sure she's…umh…got a good personality and all, but really."

Potter's shoulders had gotten more and more tense with every word Pansy had uttered. He pushed himself away from the desk. "She's my friend, nothing more. Not that that makes a difference. There is nothing about you that is better than her." He stalked off.

"You are scarily one-track minded," said Millicent.

Pansy grinned, teeth glinting sharply as she swung her stockinged feet. "He's not with Granger," she said, eyes gleaming in delight.

Millicent sighed. Pansy, for all of her intelligence evidently didn't realise that there was more than one fish in the sea – or more than one student in the school as the case might have been. "That doesn't necessarily mean…"

Pansy held up a silencing hand. "Anyone else I'll be able to break up. But Potter and Granger?" She shook her head. "They've been through too much together. They're too close to each other morally."

"Breaking people up might not be the best way to find a partner," said Millicent, but Pansy was far too like Draco in some things and just stared at her blankly.

"Well, how else would I go about it?"

Millicent didn't suggest waiting until the person in question was back on the market, because the term 'wait' was not in Pansy's vocabulary.

Pansy folded her arms across her chest and glowered at Hermione. "I bet he will go after her. Even with that crazy hair and weird obsession with morals. Measures must be taken, Bulstrode!"

She launched herself off the desk and headed for Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. He squeaked in alarm as she bore down on them, Hermione just looked resigned.

Millicent leant back against the desk and watched them. As she did she caught a flash of red in the corner of her eye. She tilted her body, turning a little.

Ginny Weasley stood in a doorway to the side of the Common Room. She caught Millicent's eye and winked before jerking her head in the direction of the staircase behind her.

Anything she was up to was bound to be more entertaining than playing wingman to Pansy's crazy pick-up schemes. Millicent pushed herself off the desk and followed Ginny.


	23. Chapter 23

Molly Weasley had written back. Already. George hadn't known that owls could fly so fast.

He took the note, crushed it in his hand and collapsed on his back in bed, one arm draped melodramatically over his brow. That was the sort of day it was. He wasn't even going to consider reading his mother's letter until he was suitably inebriated.

He hadn't moved by the time Ginny slammed into the dorm; the room door cracking sharply against the brick wall.

"Out, you monster, out!" George yelled without moving. He didn't need to look to know that it was Ginny. No one else thumped around with quite so much gusto.

"Well, that's nice," said Ginny. "Here I am bringing you someone to cheer you up and you treat me like this?"

George cracked one eye open. Then he moved his arm and cracked the other.

Millicent was by Lee Jordan's bed, studying George with narrow eyes. She looked as though someone had hit her full in the face with a handful of cinnamon. Until then George had been blissfully unaware that make-up came in cinnamon. He sat up, reaching behind himself to tuck the letter from his mother under his pillow.

"Mill," he said. "Delighted to see you. You look fantastic. Have you done something with your hair?"

Millicent stared at him, lifting an absent hand to touch her hair. It sort of looked like she'd rubbed dirt in it.

Ginny was right; flipping this game on its head was going to be so much more fun than being honest.

George stretched languidly as he stood up. "Obviously you couldn't stay away," he said. "And I appreciate the effort you take with yourself. Really, some witches don't bother."

"Don't be such a tool," said Ginny. She squinted at Millicent. "He doesn't like your make-up," she said. "It's kind of terrible, actually. Your Slytherin friends are doing you no favours. But he likes your personality, so that's okay."

Millicent looked even more worried than she had previously. All things considered, that was sort of legitimate. Every time George had seen Millicent for the past few weeks she'd been all over him; and she'd happily substituted Fred when he wasn't available. Even Creevey would likely find that sort of witch horrifying – well, no, actually. Considering the rumours about Creevey and Moaning Myrtle, he would probably think that Millicent's behaviour was an indication of true love.

"We're going to head down to the Great Lake for a swim," Ginny told George. "Thought you might want to come. But not if you guys are going to be weird and snoggish."

Millicent looked horrified beyond words, which sort of proved that the snog that morning had been part of the prank. "I – ah – can't go swimming," she said quickly. "It will ruin my make-up."

"You just need to cast a quick-set charm," said Ginny. "I can do it for you when we get there."

"Oh." Millicent frowned before nodding. "Well, it will be very hard on me, but I will endeavour not to snog my Georgie," she said. She watched George out of the corner of her eye as though hoping that he would be disgusted by the notion.

He nodded. "I have spent most of my life not snogging Mill. I imagine that I can do without it for a few more hours."

If it weren't for the cinnamon make-up, George was pretty sure that Millicent would be white as a sheet. She sort of teetered backwards, and he was worried that she would fall, but she righted herself.

"Okay," said Ginny.

They went to the lake and they swam. It was the middle of winter and the edges of had half-frozen over, but all three of them knew the charms to warm the water and they got quite a good pool of it heated between themselves. George dunked Ginny repeatedly and was very careful not to touch Millicent. When Ginny – half-drowned – splashed across to Millicent begging aid, Millicent had no such compunctions. She dunked George sounded. She must have been unfamiliar with the game because George had to hex her to let him up.

He emerged choking, and glaring at her in outraged betrayal. Her expression probably matched his.

"Were you trying to kill me?" he exclaimed as she waved her arms – and her new hex-tail – and snapped,

"Why do you even have a wand?"

Ginny snorted. "He's afraid of the Giant Squid."

Millicent's tail flicked out of the water in obvious irritation. George wondered what she'd do when she noticed it, and was grateful that her wand was metres away atop her pile of robes. "In the middle of winter? It's hibernating, fool."

"Oh no," said George. "That's what it wants you to think."

Millicent gave him a doubtful look.

She must have noticed the tail pretty soon after though, because she took to flicking his legs with it when he was distracted. Then he would scream that the squid was upon him and she and Ginny would go into peals of laughter and almost drown when they forgot to swim.

George retaliated by blasting out currents that dragged them out of the heated area and into icy water.

All in all it was a night well spent.

On their way back to the castle, George even offered to reverse the tail hex.

Millicent flicked her tail again – long and flexible – like a rat's. "Oh no," she said batting her lashes, as though she'd just remembered that she was meant to be flirting outrageously with him. "I would never get rid of anything you gave me."

"Ah," said George, because he was meant to be playing this game as well. "That is a little creepy. But okay."

They left Millicent at in the Entrance Hall.

"That went well," said Ginny. Her lips were blue and she was shivering, robes draped around her shoulders.

"She has a tail now," George pointed out.

"I think she likes it."

"Hm." It was probably true. Millicent had been all sorts of happy when she'd found out that she could windmill her tail to make herself swim faster. "Mum sent a letter back already."

"What did it say?"

They curled up by the fireplace in George's dorm to read it. It was long, a little rambling and far too sweet.

When they'd read it through, George crumpled it into a ball and threw it on the floor.

"Two days," said Ginny.

George shuddered, throwing himself back in his armchair. "How did she arrange it all so quickly?"

"It doesn't matter," said Ginny. "We need to get you a game-plan."

He got an owl from Millicent the next night, telling him that she had been invited to dinner with her parents and asking if he wanted to walk to Hogsmeade with her to meet them. The phrases 'your parents must approve of our love!' and 'this will be a chance to discuss grandchildren!' might have been included amongst the squiggled pink hearts and lipsticked kiss marks. A good effort. George refolded the letter and shoved it into his prank supply chest before writing back.

She met him by the front gates as she had promised, wearing bile-yellow dress-robes and strings of lumpy terracotta coloured beads. Her make-up was – he didn't know if better was the right word – it looked as though it had been applied by someone who knew what they were doing though. She sort of looked like a terrifying doll that had way too much pink going on in the cheeks with green invading the eyelids. A huge pink bow clung to her head.

"I slept with your letter clutched to my chest," she said by way of greeting.

"Good evening, Millicent. It's lovely to see you too," said George.

She blinked and then looked put out that her comment hadn't fazed him. "If I held it to my nose, I could smell you," she said.

"The depth of your love terrifies me," said George.

That mollified her a little. She smiled and held out her hand. "So when we have sex after the Yule Ball," she said, as he took it. "Do you want me to bring your broomstick fetish into it?"

He spluttered; he couldn't help it. "My what, now?"

She cast him a sidelong look. "I saw those magazines under your bed," she said.

"My Quidditch magazines? That are about Quidditch?"

She waved her free hand airily. "Whatever you want to call them. Anyway, I bought a tin of broom polish. I thought that you might like the smell of it – you know, seeing as you like that sort of thing."

She was evidently upping her game tonight. Considering that the last three occasions he had spent time with her she'd barely been playing the game, it stood to reason. What was odd was that she hadn't asked to meet him somewhere more crowded, where she could really embarrass him. The school gates were never busy and at night were completely deserted.

"You're freaking me out a little," George told her.

She smiled again, eyes bright because she thought that she was causing him mental anguish. He didn't have the heart to correct her.


	24. Chapter 24

All of their parents were at the restaurant already. George studied the table by the window apprehensively as the waiter led them to it.

Millicent's mother was an older version of Millicent. She was bigger, both in height and girth, and carried herself with that same casual confidence that Millicent showed when she didn't think George was paying attention. Millicent's father was massive on a whole new scale. He didn't exactly dwarf Mrs Bulstrode – even Hagrid probably wouldn't be able to do that. But he made the entire restaurant seem smaller than it had the previous week.

George glanced at Millicent, hoping that she'd be an anxious mess considering that her parents were right there – waiting to meet her prank-boyfriend. No such luck. She looked calmer and happier than she had on the walk to Hogsmeade.

"You're very carroty."

George turned to find that Mrs Bulstrode was looking him up and down. She was more sophisticated than Millicent; voice softer and cooler and her robes were tailored from brocaded silk.

"A very carroty family in all. It must come in handy for Halloween."

Molly's mouth dropped open. "Ah – we don't do much for Halloween," she finally said carefully.

"What a wasted opportunity," said Mrs Bulstrode. "Does the carrot…" She waved a hand. "Does it magic out?"

Molly and Arthur stared at her in disbelief. "I wouldn't know," said Molly faintly.

"I don't think we'll try," said Millicent, pulling up a chair. "I don't mind it."

Mrs Bulstrode made a non-committal sound.

"You'll be having carroty grand-children soon," said Millicent.

Arthur choked on his wine. "How soon?" he demanded, casting his eyes anxiously over her stomach.

George glanced at his watch. Forty-five seconds. Yeah, Millicent was going to win the game tonight. He sank into the seat by hers, strangely complacent about the whole thing. He might lose tonight, but it wasn't going to be boring. "Nothing is imminent, obviously," he said and Arthur sagged in relief.

"Oh good," said Mrs Bulstrode. "May I say that I do not want carroty grand-children?"

Mr Bulstrode shifted his hulking mass, staring down at Mrs Bulstrode, his heavy brow knit in annoyance. "You cannot choose the colours of your grand-children."

"Of course not," agreed Mrs Bulstrode emphatically. "I would never tell Mill what kind of children she should have. Anything but carroty, Millie. They won't go with any of my décor."

"You'll just have to redecorate in creams and browns," said Millicent, unfolding her menu.

Mrs Bulstrode looked distressed. "Oh no, not autumnal colours. That's terribly unattractive."

"Then go with blacks and whites and the little carrot heads can supply the splash of colour," suggested Millicent.

"That seems very muggle," said Mrs Bulstrode disapprovingly.

"Children are not decorations," objected Molly, who had apparently been overcome with horror until now.

"Well, not your children, dear," said Mrs Bulstrode.

George thought that maybe this was where Millicent got her sense of humour. She and her mother were both so…happy when they were teasing people. It sort of made Millicent glow a bit – even through the terrible make-up.

Dinner wasn't an unmitigated disaster. Mrs Bulstrode insisted on being called Madeline, and equally vehemently insisted that Mr Bulstrode be called by a name that George could not even pronounce. Molly asked her to repeat it thrice and then gave up. Mr Bulstrode – or Azclipyoudodo, or whatever it was – glared daggers at the table, as though he would genuinely snap anyone who actually attempted to use his real name.

Millicent was winning when the plates were cleared away. She'd started by smiling at her stomach and stroking it lovingly. Arthur had begun chewing his nails down before the entrees had been cleared away. To get to Molly, Millicent checked out every wizard that walked past the table; a long, languorous look up and down that she barely tried to disguise. George was kind of proud of her, and then he realised how crazy it was to be proud of a prank girlfriend – even if she felt more real every time he saw her.

So much so that he was weirdly okay with her winning. He'd stopped playing halfway through the meal because watching his parents' abject horror was far too entertaining. It was better than he and Fred could do on a good day.

Then, as the waiter went to fetch the dessert menu, something touched George's knee. He looked down, saw a giant flesh-coloured snake and squeaked in surprise.

Arthur, already nervous, jumped like a startled bunny; before staring at George.

"George..?" Molly's voice was strained, as though she could not take any more awful surprises tonight.

He choked on an attempted reply before his brain re-aligned itself and explained the flesh-snake to him. Sweet Merlin, she hadn't been lying. She had kept her disgusting hex-tail – and she was touching him with it!

He swallowed sharply and lifted his gaze to meet his mother's. "Nothing, mum. I think Fred might have slipped an ice-hex into my pocket."

He caught the too-innocent smile that Millicent shot his parents. From their expressions they weren't buying the excuse.

And – that was pretty much it – he was going to beat her at her own game tonight. Nothing personal, but he was going to thrash her.

Molly elbowed Arthur in the ribs, giving him a significant look and Arthur cleared his throat. "Ah," he said. "Perhaps George – we should take a walk and have a chat about…er…your brother's tricks."

Millicent leant against George's shoulder at once; that was her undoing. "Oh no," she said. "Can't you wait until dessert is done? It would be such a shame to miss out on it."

George gave her a sharp grin. This ploy was way too obvious. She had no reason to hold him back, unless she wanted to listen in on whatever lecture Arthur was planning on giving him. "A few more minutes won't hurt," he said to his father.

Arthur gave a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to play the authoritarian role just yet, but Molly glowered at Millicent as though only a thin veneer of decorum prevented her from hexing Mill out of George's vicinity.

They had dessert and Millicent kept stroking George's knee with her hex-tail. He leant in to kiss her cheek and put a hand on her tail, running his fingers over it gently.

She jerked the tail out of his hand, stumbling to her feet. When everyone turned to stare at her, she excused herself from the table.

George turned to Arthur as Millicent left the table. "I guess we should go and talk about that thing," he suggested, loud enough for her to hear.

They went to the enclosed courtyard. No one else was there and it was warm and quiet with trellises of magically warmed vines growing throughout. It would give Mill the best possible opportunity to eavesdrop.

"What's up?" George asked, turning to his father. "And let's not pretend it's about Fred. That's a very thin excuse."

"About as thin as you telling us that Fred had slipped you a hex."

George inclined his head. "Touché. But doesn't exactly tell me what you're trying to lecture me on."

"George, really!" Arthur shook his head, brows drawn together. "That girl? She's not at all your type."

George laughed at that. "And what is my type, dad? I've never dated before so I'm curious as to how you'd know what I'm looking for."

Arthur scowled. "What does she have in common with you? Do you have any shared interests at all?"

"Eating," said George promptly, which in hindsight might not have been the argument that would sway anyone to his side. And it definitely was not where he needed the conversation to be at. He couldn't see any sign that Millicent might be lurking around, but he was going to have to just take the risk and hope that she was stealthier than he gave her credit for. "Look, dad, I really like her," he said.

"Why?" asked Arthur helplessly. "Is she pregnant?"

"Merlin no," said George. "I mean, that's a hopeful eventuality; but not for a year at least."

"A year?" Arthur squeaked, his voice an odd combination of pain and panic.

"She'll have to drop out of Hogwarts," said George. "But I doubt that she'll mind. She's not very academic."

"Okay, George, stop," said Arthur. "This is a lot to take in." He took a deep breath and squinted at George as though searching for a sign that this was a terrible prank. It wasn't the kind of prank that he or Fred played though; was too subtle. "It's very sudden," Arthur said weakly. "That's all. You haven't – I mean you haven't shown any sign of liking anyone before and…uh…"

"I've liked Millie for months," said George.

Arthur stared at him.

George shrugged. "Fred helped," he said. "I mean, I wasn't going to ask her out but Fred sent her an invitation to the Yule Ball and pretended it was from me so I guess he knew what was going on."

"You've liked Millicent – er – Millicent Bulstrode for months?" Arthur asked.

George shrugged again. "Obviously I wasn't about to date anyone else while I liked her. Just didn't think I'd be dating her either. Funny how it all works out."

Arthur sat down heavily amongst the trellises. "You were saving yourself for her?" he croaked as though the world had somehow all gone wrong.

"Is that okay?" asked George. He might not be able to count on much else, but he could always count on his parents coming through for him.

"It's great," said Arthur. "It's wonderful. I'm glad you're – We, that is. Your mother and I are delighted that you're happy."

George smiled. "I am," he said. "Should we go back in?"


	25. Chapter 25

"This prank is over!"

The Slytherin girls looked up from painting their toe-nails as Millicent stormed into their dorm room. Pansy was conspicuously absent, which made perfect sense if she had access to the Gryffindor Common Room again.

"It's broken. He's broken. I'm done."

Daphne flicked a brush across the nail of her middle toe, leaving it shell-pink. "We're not the ones you have to convince," she said languidly. "And Pansy's not going to let you out of this that easily."

Millicent shrugged the comment aside. "Pansy won't notice," she said. If she was lucky, it would be true.

Daphne lifted her head, tapping the nail-polish bottle against her thigh. "Oh, yes. Her crush. How is that going?"

Millicent shrugged. She tried to have as little as possible to do with that whole mess. Pansy was going to spend ages stalking her crush, never actually admit anything, deny it emphatically if questioned and then be devastated when her wooing technique failed. "No idea, but it will probably keep her busy. So long as no one reminds her about this train-wreck of a prank, we should be able to bury it quietly."

"What happened?" asked Tracey. "You were looking forward to it this afternoon."

"That was before I realised that Weasley was insane," said Millicent. "And when I thought that the prank was going…" She broke off, frowning to herself, because she'd known that the prank wasn't going well. It was easy enough to pretend that it was; none of the other girls had any reason to believe otherwise. But it wasn't working, and it hadn't been for days. If that day out near the Shrieking Shack with Fred hadn't convinced her that her priorities were out of whack, the next day with George should have. For Merlin's sake, she'd kissed him and he'd been fine with it, and then they'd gone swimming. There wasn't any recovering from that. She should have cut her losses then.

"Anyway," she said, shaking herself and scowling. "It's broken now. I need to extricate myself."

"It's not going to work," said Daphne. "I don't care what else is happening, Pansy's not going to let this prank go."

"I suggest that you do what you can to convince her," said Millicent. "I'm out. And Pansy might be a complete bitch when she's thwarted, but that's nothing on what I'm capable of."

Tracey leant forward to get a bottle of shimmery gold polish. "What's changed?" she asked. "I've never seen you this rattled."

Millicent huffed out a breath and slumped onto the bed. "Everything's changed. He's a creep and I don't ever want to see him again."

Daphne frowned, twisting the lid back onto her bottle and tossing it aside. "Did he feel you up under the table?"

"No, I felt him up under the table," said Millicent. "With my tail."

"Ew," said Tracey.

Daphne made a face. "That's disgusting."

"I know, right?" agreed Millicent fervently. "It should have been amazing. He should have shrieked like a banshee and fallen out of his chair, right?"

Tracey stared at her, mouth twisting in concern. "Did he not?"

"He probably liked it!" Millicent exclaimed. "He probably has a hex-tail fetish! That's probably why he gave me one."

"You're not making sense," said Tracey. "What makes you think he's into tails?"

A wave of hysterical dizziness washed over Millicent at the recollection. "He stroked it!" she choked out, voice hoarse with horror.

Daphne spluttered, eyes wide with revulsion. "He what?"

"When I touched him with it," Millicent wailed. "He started patting it. Who does that?"

The other two Slytherin girls stared at her, transfixed with shock.

"It gets worse," said Millicent, scowling.

"How can it get worse?" asked Daphne. "That's already a Colin Creevey level of creepiness."

All three girls shuddered.

"Still," said Millicent, steeling herself. She lifted her chin and glanced from Tracey to Daphne. "I eavesdropped on a conversation he was having with his father. Honestly, I don't really want to repeat it, but from now on if we see either of the twins you will hide me."

It was a pity because Millicent had liked Ginny. Damn it all, she'd liked George until he'd turned out to be a complete freak.

Daphne narrowed her eyes. "I think you're going to have to tell us the rest," she said. "What did this conversation consist of?"

There were some things that Millicent didn't want to relive and that was one of them. "It was creepy," she said. "You don't need to know the rest."

"Need to? No," said Daphne. "You're resilient enough that I'd take your word for it. But there is the matter of curiosity to be addressed. I will not sleep if I don't know the details."

"Oh, yes. Spill," said Tracey, shuffling forward on her bed and hugging a pillow to herself as though waiting for a bed-time story.

Millicent sighed, rubbing her head. Tracey and Daphne would keep asking if she didn't explain, so she took a breath and gave them a run-down of the conversation she had over-heard. When she'd finished Tracey and Daphne stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief.

"What does he mean by saying that he's liked you for months?" asked Tracey finally. "I thought he screamed every time you came near him."

"That's Fred. George is the one who locked himself in a Cocooning Charm. Probably because he was overcome with happiness at me having accepted him." Millicent shuddered before shaking herself briskly. "Alright, I need to find a spell to get rid of this tail. I'm going to the library."

"Mill." Tracey leant forward on her bed, frowning. "There's nothing weird about a guy liking you…I mean…"

That was so far beside the point that Millicent stared at her for a moment. "He's considering children!"

"He comes from a big family. He doesn't know any better," said Daphne with a casual shrug. "I think what Tracey's saying is that you're fun to be around; and the Weasley twins are into fun. It isn't weird that he'd like you."

"That's not…" Millicent protested before cutting herself off and trying to figure out how to put her jumbled thoughts into words. "It wouldn't be creepy if he'd only just started liking me. I mean, even with the prank and everything, I guess I've let bits of my personality slip through, so sure. But he's liked me for months? What the hell has he liked? Most people think that I follow everything Pansy says and never bother to think for myself. I'm pretty sure that the Ravenclaws doubt my ability to read. They keep offering to teach me at least."

Daphne pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side as she considered Millicent's statement. "From his perspective you have nothing going for you," she said. "You're not good-looking and you've always tried to hide anything that might make you seem interesting."

"And I've done a damn good job of it," agreed Millicent hysterically. "The only person who's ever tried to hit on me was Creevey."

All three girls shuddered once more.

"Face it," said Millicent. "There are two possible reasons for George Weasley to be interested in me based on what he knows of me."

"One," said Tracey, leaning back into her pillows. "His self-esteem is so low that he'll take anything he can get."

Millicent grinned sharply and nodded. Everyone knew that whatever the twins might lack it wasn't self-confidence though.

"Two," said Daphne, voice slicing through the air as sharp as a rending curse. "He thinks that your self-esteem is so low that he'll be able to make you do anything he wants."

"That's the one," said Millicent, pointing at her. "So, again, this prank is over. Parkinson is a non-entity in this equation. I'm done."

Tracey glanced across at Daphne; eyes dark with uncertainty. Daphne reached for a new bottle of polish, ignoring her friend.

"I'm going to the library," said Millicent.

"Mill," Tracey put her pillow aside, face creasing into a frown. Her voice was sharp with worry.

Millicent scowled at her. She'd had the damned tail too long already. "What?"

Tracey huffed out a breath and turned to Daphne once more, creasing her nose when Daphne didn't take over.

"Merlin's sake, fine," snapped Daphne, slamming her bottle down. She glared at Millicent as though she blamed her for the fact that Tracey was being weird. "Were your feelings hurt by this strange turn of events?" she almost snarled. When it came to talking about feelings she was almost worse than Pansy.

Millicent frowned. "Okay, so I've never had a prank go sour before, but I think I'll recover…"

"Millicent!" Tracey protested, throwing her hands into the air. Unlike the others, Tracey was really, really good at talking about feelings. She tended to drag other people into it though, because Pansy, Daphne – and on very rare occasions – Millicent could get violent when confronted with things involving emotion. "We know," she said now, voice sharp and unhappy.

Daphne laughed shortly. "Pansy can be stupid about things that are ridiculously obvious sometimes," she drawled. "But you're not as good at hiding things from us as you are from the rest of the school."

"We know how sneaky you are," said Tracey, a smile touching her lips.

Daphne flipped her hair. "We also know that you came back with a tail two nights ago; but you didn't have a story to tell about it."

"If you'd made a move on one of the twins and he'd hexed you in retaliation you would have told us everything," Tracey pointed out.

"So he hexed you for a different reason," said Daphne. "And whatever the reason was, you didn't want us to know."

"How long is this going to take?" asked Millicent impatiently. She wanted to get rid of her tail as soon as physically possible in case Weasley really did have a tail fetish – a theory that didn't seem too far-fetched right now.

"You could tell us everything – and I mean the truth about everything," said Tracey. "That would save some time."

Millicent glowered at her.

Daphne stretched out her lithe frame, studying Millicent with a distinctly bored air about her. "Fine. We'll just have to guess then. Trace?"

Tracey grinned sharply. "You were freaked out before you went to visit the Weasley in his Common Room. I could tell when I was doing your make-up. You never sit that still normally."

After that stupidly impudent kiss. God, maybe Millicent should belatedly scour her lips clean. She should have known that Tracey would have noticed something even if Pansy didn't.

"But the Weasley left here without a mark on him," said Daphne. "So whatever happened between you, it wasn't enough for you to hit him or knee him or set him on fire."

Millicent was grateful for the layers of caked on make-up. Hopefully it would cover the violent colour that she could feel flushing through her face.

"You were looking forward to tonight," said Tracey.

"And you did get dressed in those horrible robes that honestly look as though they were inspired by bile," added Daphne. "But Trace and I noticed that you didn't force the Weasley to meet up somewhere shamefully public. Like, say, his Common Room. Or the Great Hall."

"Get to the point," Millicent snarled. She could have turned and walked out. But that would just give them a reason to start the conversation up again when Pansy was around. And they knew what they knew, that was fair enough, but Millicent didn't want Pansy knowing it too.

"We're not pretending to know what's going on with you," said Tracey.

"Obviously," agreed Daphne, shuddering in disgust. "Because your thought processes are evidently screwed at the moment."

"Very screwed," Tracey seconded emphatically. She creased her nose and shrugged her shoulders. "But, obviously there's more to this than a prank. So you are…You are okay with him turning out to be…"

"Psychotic?" Millicent dropped the word into the blossoming silence.

Tracey cringed but Daphne nodded happily.

Millicent considered the matter. "Bit annoying," she said. "But what can you do?"


	26. Chapter 26

Ginny didn't bother getting up from George's bed when he let himself into his dorm that night, just raised her head to glance at him. "It work?"

She had been conjuring paper nifflers and they were burrowing into the covers around her.

"Too well," said George. He looked around the room casually. Most of his dorm-mates were in bed already, some of them looking put out that Ginny was lounging around while they were trying to sleep. "Common Room's clear," he commented.

Ginny nodded and rolled off the bed, gathering her little niffler transfigurations and tucking them into various pockets in her pyjamas.

They sank into the deep chairs of the Common Room. Ginny leant forward, freckled face lit up with curiosity. She studied him for a few long moments before creasing her nose. "I can't tell. Did it go well or badly?"

George lifted his shoulders and let them drop. "I'm as in the dark as you are," he said. "I won, if that makes a difference. I thrashed her utterly."

Ginny grinned and bounced in her chair. "Brilliant. I was worried for a while that you wouldn't be able to keep up."

"Hey!" protested George, scowling at her. Millicent might have been incredibly talented, but Ginny was his sister, her faith in him should have been unwavering.

Ginny shrugged, not seeming to care that she had wounded George soundly. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You won. So tell me everything."

George dropped back in his seat and told Ginny about his night as she let her paper nifflers crawl between her fingers.

She laughed when he told her about the conversation he'd had with their father and nodded her approval. "Good. You're in the lead now. Don't let her get it back."

"I don't know that there's going to be a game to play after tonight," said George.

Ginny frowned at him. "I don't follow."

"She freaked out," said George. "I don't mean publicly. She was still perfectly civil, but she wouldn't let me walk her back to Hogwarts."

Ginny pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "That's hardly surprising," she said. "I wouldn't walk back with someone who'd stroked my tail and had that creepy conversation with their dad about me."

"She demanded that her parents escort her back," said George. "I'm pretty sure she threatened them."

"So what?" asked Ginny.

"So she's done," said George. "She's not going to take this prank further."

Ginny frowned and sat back in her seat, chewing her thumb-nail.

The portrait swung open and Hermione stepped in. She yelped when she saw them and stepped back before squinting and relaxing.

"Oh," she said. "I'm surprised you're both up." Instead of heading for the stairs, she came into the Common Room and took another seat nearby. "I…ah…heard that you and Millicent had dinner tonight," she said, not quite making eye contact with George. She'd been behaving strangely since Millicent had tricked George into this whole Yule Ball thing. Was probably still mad about the supposed prank that George was playing on Millicent.

He should probably tell her that the whole thing was a prank; but not one orchestrated by him or by Fred. The perverse part of him that delighted in teasing made an executive decision not to. "Yup," said George, grinning at her. "Worst night ever."

Hermione scowled at him. "You're not usually this nasty," she said, voice flat and cold.

George shrugged. "She's Slytherin."

"She has feelings!" Hermione exclaimed. She got so worked up about things that George couldn't resist pushing further.

"Obviously," he said. "You'd hardly ask someone without feelings out for a prank. They wouldn't be crushed and humiliated at all and all of that effort would have gone to waste. No, Millicent doesn't lack feelings; she lacks brains. I can see no way in which this won't be hilarious."

"George," said Ginny, reproving because she didn't like him teasing Hermione even when it was so damn fun.

Hermione glared at him. "Can't you see how awful what you're doing is? Not just that you're doing this in front of the whole school, but to bring her parents into it – to bring _your_ parents into it – to let her think she has that much of a chance. George, it's wrong."

"But funny," said George. "And it's not as though I'm doing it to Eloise Midgeon or Luna Lovegood."

"As though that's worse!" exclaimed Hermione. She'd flushed a blotchy red and was becoming incoherent with fury. "The Slytherins are very attractive…I mean, the Slytherins possess some very attractive traits – if you'd just give Millicent a chance!"

"Have you seen her make-up?" asked George.

Hermione stood up so abruptly that the paper nifflers scattered to the safety of Ginny's sleeves. "I suggest you rethink this," she said in the tone of someone giving an ultimatum.

George laughed. "I'll take it under advisement."

Hermione looked as though she was going to say more, but must have realised that it wouldn't make any difference because she tossed her hair over her shoulder and stormed out of the Common Room.

Ginny waited until she was gone and made a face. "Honestly, you don't have the capacity to be playing more than one game when you're up against Millicent," she said.

"Excuse me," said George coldly. "I'll have you know that I'm perfectly capable of running several difficult pranks simultaneously."

"Yeah? So what's your plan for dragging her back into the game?"

That was the question. George slumped back into his chair and glared into the fireplace. "I don't think I can. I scared her off; doesn't that mean I've won?"

Ginny snorted. "Are you kidding? She was well on her way to dragging you to the Ball. She managed to keep you locked into this prank for days; you've lost her on the first night."

"Say now, that's not fair," protested George.

"It is fair," said Ginny. "The Ball is in three days. If you don't get her there, you are not a third of the prankster that she is."

George left the fireplace alone and transferred his glare to his sister. "That's a pretty big expectation."

"I think Millicent would manage it if your roles were reversed," said Ginny airily.

George growled at her. It didn't help that she was right. Millicent had been keeping the twins trapped into her prank with ease before George had figured out what she was playing at.

Ginny grinned, setting her penetrating gaze on him. "Ask for help," she said. "You know you need it."

George sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he considered the matter. He did need it. He'd seen Millicent's expression when she'd gotten back to the table. He had freaked her the hell out. After that he'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of her during meal times; getting closer would be an impossibility. "Yeah," he said. "Help me out, Gin."

Ginny squealed in delight and threw herself back in her armchair, hugging herself and likely crushing all of her nifflers.

#

He woke up the next morning when Ginny pounced on him, her knee connecting solidly with his stomach.

He shoved her so hard she tumbled off the bed, but she was laughing when she clambered to her feet.

"Hermione's going to invite you on a walk today," she whispered, leaning in close enough that no one else would hear. "Don't give in too easily, but do give in."

"That's…" George pushed his hair out of his face and squinted at his sister blearily. "Have you got it figured out already?"

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "As though it was difficult. Don't screw up."

Then she twirled and headed for the door, disappearing through it and down the stairs.

George was eating lunch in the Great Hall when Hermione slipped onto the bench by him. He'd been right about Millicent. He'd not seen her all day, and she wasn't in the Great Hall for lunch. Hadn't been there for breakfast either.

"Good afternoon, Hermione. Forgiven me already?" he asked, reaching for a cinnamon star.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, giving him a hard look. "You're not the least bit sorry, and I can't forgive you until you are."

George paused, turning to frown at her. "That sounds awfully like a threat."

"Don't flatter yourself," said Hermione. "If you can't appreciate what Bulstrode is offering then it's not up to me to force it on you."

That didn't sound at all like Hermione. She usually tried to force all of her ethics on to other people.

"It isn't?" asked George.

Hermione glared at him. "I would like to talk to you about this though," she said. "For all you know you're making a huge mistake. You and Bulstrode could be fated. I mean, you don't know, do you? Sometimes people who you've always thought of as utter bitches turn out to be surprisingly – uhm – fascinating or something. You should give it a chance."

"No, no," said George. "I trust your judgement. If you've always thought of Bulstrode as an utter bitch then I'm not going to tempt fate with her."

Hermione looked disconcerted. "I've never thought of Millicent Bulstrode as a bitch," she said. "I've barely thought about her at all."

"What?" It was George's turn to be baffled. "You just said…"

Hermione held up a hand, shaking her head. "Stop trying to distract me," she said sharply. "I want to talk to you about this. Not here – anyone could listen in. Come for a walk with me after dinner. We'll have this out."

"I don't think…"

"George." Hermione's voice had all of the gravity of the Killing Curse and it shut George right up. "I'm telling you, not asking you. After dinner."

George grit his teeth and nodded sharply, bristling under the tone even though he knew that he was meant to ultimately give in. "It won't change anything," he protested.

"We'll see." Hermione didn't wait around to eat; sliding off the seat and stalking out of the Hall instead.

She had never had a fraction of this emotional investment in any of the other pranks he and Fred had played – and that was when they'd been conducting experiments on other students. It was odd that she was getting so irate over this. George wasn't sure what it was, but the girl seemed to be coming unhinged.


	27. Chapter 27

Filch had been patrolling the corridor outside the library with Mrs. Norris the night before so Millicent had had to abandon her quest to remove her tail. That wasn't too bad. She couldn't go to the Great Hall while there was any chance of seeing the creepy Weasley so she spent her breakfast looking for a counter curse. It hadn't worked so she went back to it at lunch.

Daphne and Tracey were being cows as usual, and told her that they weren't going to fetch pumpkin pastries for her when she could just go to the Great Hall and get them herself. For a time Millicent had been afraid that she would have to seduce provisions from Creevey. Then she remembered Draco.

It didn't take much. Just Millicent sniffling and telling Draco that she didn't think that George was the one after all but that she was afraid that if she saw his manly visage at lunch-time she may come undone and melt right back into his arms. That was all the prompting Draco needed to spring into chivalric action. That is to say, he slapped at Crabbe and Goyle and bellowed at them to fetch Millicent food.

They were very good at their job and Millicent settled into her nook of the library as Crabbe and Goyle smuggled her hot cups of sweet tea and platters of fruit, pastries and cheeses.

Millicent was biting into her third Danish when Pansy smacked a pile of books down on the table and crawled into the booth by her. "Oh good, you're here," Pansy said, snatching up a tart and shoving it into her mouth. She chewed a bit and then kept talking. "We've got a walk later. After dinner."

"Walking is not fun," said Millicent, flicking over to the next page. So far there were counter-curses for enlarged noses, over-grown eyebrows and – for some very unfortunate witch or wizard – severely shrunken bladders. But nothing for tails.

Pansy shrugged. "Fun or not, you're coming."

"Why?" asked Millicent. "It's snowing out. You hate snow."

"Regardless," said Pansy shortly. "I don't have time to argue about it." She was already tapping each book in her pile with her wand.

Millicent frowned at her. "What are you…"

"Sst," hissed Pansy. "Keep an eye out for that busy-body, Granger, will you?"

"She just came in," said Millicent, nodding to the far doors.

Pansy swore, gathering the books up and shoving them into Millicent's arms. "Go hide those. Hide them like you hide candy from Daphne."

Millicent could have told her that she had a tail to get rid of, but that would have led to questions about where that tail had come from and Pansy had a bit of crazy going on around her eyes. Probably better not to cross her right now.

Millicent swept the pile of books up and headed into the stacks, narrowly avoiding Granger. It wasn't really an encounter she wanted to get in the middle of.

The books turned out to be old law tomes, which made more sense than Millicent wanted to admit. It also sort of made her head hurt. She was sure that she was quite normal, and generally well-adjusted. She didn't know how someone like Pansy had wound up being her best friend when Pansy was emphatically neither of those things.

Still, Millicent tried to be a good friend when she remembered and when she had the energy and when there was nothing more exciting to do – and this was one of those days. Oh, getting rid of the tail was probably more important, but Granger likely had the answer to that already so it wouldn't take much effort.

So Millicent hid the pile of books Pansy had given her before sidling into the stacks nearest to the table Pansy and Granger were at and eavesdropping on their conversation.

"You're meant to be smart!" Pansy was saying, voice high with annoyance. "How is it taking this long to find a way to trap the Weasley into his invitation?"

Hermione sighed, shoving her hair back impatiently. "I can't do anything without the primary law texts and they've all disappeared."

Pansy let out an incredulous snort. "How could they disappear? They're part of the permanent collection. They're not available for loan."

"I understand how the catalogue works," snapped Granger. "The fact remains that the books are not here. Maybe the twins figured out what we were doing and took them."

"They can't be taken out of the library!" Pansy exclaimed. "Madam Pince would know if anyone tried that. You're just not looking hard enough and now Millicent is going to be dumped and she will die from the heartbreak!"

Granger glanced across at her, teeth biting into her lower lip, eyes dark with concern. She reached out a hand, hesitated a hair's breadth from Pansy's shoulder, pulled back a few centimetres. Then she shook herself, mustered that Gryffindor courage and stroked Pansy's back. "We've been looking for those books for days," she said. "If they're still in the library then they've been warded and spell-concealed by someone who is really good at what they do."

"So that's it? You'll just give up? What will I tell Millicent's parents when she drowns herself in the lake?"

Hermione laughed at her. "Don't be so melodramatic, Parkinson. Millicent Bulstrode isn't going to drown herself in the lake…"

Pansy folded her arms and slumped down into chair, pouting sulkily. "I'll tell her parents you said that when they ask me why I didn't try to stop her. I'll tell them that I tried to find someone to help her but that you had better things to do."

Hermione pressed her face into her free hand, turned away and laughed softly – and for a long time. She turned back finally, wiping her eyes with her knuckles. Surprisingly, her other hand hadn't strayed from Pansy's back this whole time. "I do have better things to do," she admitted. "But giving up is not in my nature. The Ball is in two days. I'll have George locked in by then."

"Well, you'll have to," said Pansy, severe as a Queen even as she arched contentedly against Granger's hand. "You have to stay right here until you've found that law."

Astonishingly, this approach seemed to be having some success. While Granger wasn't exactly professing undying love, she was running light fingers along Pansy's spine and murmuring soothingly as she summoned charm books with her free hand.

Millicent shook her head. She had no idea how that mess of situation was sorting itself out, but the fact remained that it was so she didn't have to intervene. That was a relief really, even if it meant that she had to sort her tail out herself.

#

Given the fact that Pansy had spent most of the afternoon curled up in the library with Granger, Millicent had hoped that she would forget about the walk. Unfortunately it was not to be. After dinner, she came into the library and whisked Millicent away amid a flurry of protests.

Once they were on the grounds, Pansy passed Millicent her cloak.

"Why are we walking in this terrible weather this late at night?" Millicent asked, draping the cloak over her shoulders and tying it at the throat.

"That Granger cow suggested it. She says she'll meet us out," said Pansy, words sharp but face lit up in excitement. "Damned annoying, but she's helping us with that prank so we should try to keep her on side."

"You need psychiatric help," said Millicent. "And couldn't you have gone alone? Wouldn't that have worked better?"

Pansy scowled at that. "She wanted you along. I have no idea why. You're nowhere near as interesting as I am – and I told her that. But she insisted."

"Did you ask why she wanted me along?" asked Millicent.

Pansy waved a dismissive hand. "Something about Weasley. Like maybe she was trying to figure out if we could shift your attention to something else – like give you chocolate or gold to distract you from this unholy alliance."

That did not sound like Granger. Millicent blew warm air into her hands as they skirted the edge of the lake. "Is that what she said or are you making stuff up because you can't remember what she said?"

Pansy's scowl became more pronounced and she shoved a hand through her hair irritably. "Sweet Merlin, I don't listen to everything she says, okay? I mean, she talks a lot. And I have better things to do than talk about you."

"She was doing that thing with her mouth again, wasn't she?" asked Millicent.

"What? Talking? She never stops."

Millicent snorted. "That thing where she twists her bottom lip when she gets flustered and then you stop functioning on most levels. Sometimes you fall over."

Deep crimson flooded across Pansy's face. "That's ludicrous," she said, voice somewhere between a snarl and a hiss. "If I fall over near Granger it's probably because she's always with that carroty oaf and his feet are roughly the size of a clown's. Anyone would trip over…"

"There she is," said Millicent as Granger walked out of the tree-line up ahead. Pansy tripped over her own feet with an undignified yelp.

That would have been fine, but she flung her arms out in an attempt to save herself, caught Millicent and dragged her down too.

And Millicent didn't realise that Hermione had brought the Weasley with her until she'd untangled her limbs from Pansy's.

She squeaked in alarm and scooted back across the snowy ground. Weasley offered her a hand. It was encased in a thick glove but, even so, the prospect of taking it was nauseating. Millicent scooted back some more. After that the ground turned to lake and there was nowhere else to go.

Pansy meanwhile took Granger's proffered hand and let her pull her up.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Granger, sounding surprised.

George shot her a sharp look, so evidently she wasn't fooling anyone. "You okay?" he asked Millicent. He sounded so normal and not-creepy that she almost considered putting her hand in his.

Sanity prevailed and she pressed a hand to her temple. "Actually, I feel really unwell," she said. "I think I have to go back to the castle. But you all enjoy your walk."

"Did you hurt yourself?" asked Granger. Millicent wasn't falling for that. Knowing her, she'd be able to mend a broken ankle with the swish of her wand.

"No, no. Not hurt. Just sick."

"We should go back with you," said Granger.

Pansy let out a pained cry and everyone spun to her. "Oh," she said. "My foot…" She made a show of putting some weight on her left leg then winced and lifted it.

"Let me," said Granger, reaching for her.

"No, no." Pansy waved her away. "We have to get Millie back to Hogwarts. Poor Millie."

Millicent sighed and climbed to her feet. She should have known that it wouldn't be that easy when Pansy's crush was involved. "Really," she said. "I can get back to the castle perfectly well. I can send someone to help Pansy."

"You can't go alone if you're not well," protested Granger. "And I can help Pansy – I just…" She broke off and turned to George. "You take Millicent back to the school," she said. Her voice was as hard and sharp as diamond; everything in her posture threatening to destroy him if he protested. "You make sure she gets there okay."

George glanced sideways at Millicent.

"I don't want to ruin your walk," wailed Millicent as all of her careful avoidance plans crumbled to dust around her.

"George." Hermione's voice shattered the cold winter air – like the worst kind of curse.

"Of course," said George.

Hermione's eyes flashed some sort of warning at him then she turned away, back to Pansy. Put an arm around her and helped her hobble to a nearby boulder.

Millicent headed for the school, not waiting for George to offer a creepy helping hand. She could see the lights dimly in the distance. So far away. The walk down here had not felt that long. She half expected George to make some sort of advance all alone out there so it was a surprise when he said,

"Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson, hey?" His tone was casual, languid. "She's been acting a bit odd lately, but I did not see that coming."

Millicent slowed – just a little. Walking fast didn't work anyway. His cardio far outpaced hers. "I don't have the hex-tail anymore," she said, hoping that the disappointment would make him look elsewhere for his ideal partner. Maybe a nice Medusa-girl. They were half-tail. He should appreciate that.

"That's good," he said. "I was getting a little worried that you had some sort of tail fetish."

She spluttered in indignation. "Me?" Then she remembered that she'd been the one to stroke him with the tail first and shut her mouth.

"I mean, I'm open-minded," said George. "I think you should give things a try in case you like them. But tails? Not for me."

"Huh," said Millicent. So that was that bit of creepiness explained away. It didn't explain that weird conversation he'd had with his dad though.

"Sort of bizarre; dinner with the parents," he said conversationally. "Did you – ah…That is, was it awkward for you?"

Overhearing his conversation with his father had been mountains of awkward, but Millicent wasn't supposed to know about that so she shrugged. "Food was okay," she said.

"I think food was the highlight of the night," said George. "Your father was terrifying. My father was not much better."

"Your father?" demanded Millicent incredulously.

"Yes, my father! That talk about Fred was just an excuse, you know. He pretty much ambushed me."

"Ambushed you?"

"He wanted to talk about you. How strong my feelings are, when we were having children. Merlin fuck, he's worse than mum. I think they're just so relieved that I'm finally interested in someone, you know?"

Millicent stopped in her tracks and stared at him. Relief was not what the Weasley parentals were feeling – but it might make sense to Weasley that that was what it was about. "And what did you tell him?" she asked.

"Jeez, what do you think?"

"You told him exactly what he wanted to hear," suggested Millicent.

"You can't expect me to tell the truth when I'm put on the spot like that. Anyway, I can't remember what I said. I hope it worked, whatever it was."

Millicent squinted at him through the murky light. That sort of made sense as well; if George was anything like his twin. It had become obvious in the days after this prank had begun that Fred cracked like glass under pressure. Perhaps George did too; he just didn't consider dating Millicent to be pressure or he had a higher threshold.

Millicent chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered the implications. Her brain was operating a little behind so she almost drew blood when it hit her that he'd just admitted to being interested. Which was ridiculous considering that he had no idea how she had wound up with his invitation in the first place. She frowned at him. "What made you ask me out?"

"Ah," said George. "I'd kind of hoped we wouldn't get on to this so soon." He ruffled a hand through his hair, glancing across at the castle and motioning for her to keep walking. "The thing is Fred and I experiment with potions, right? Like how to create a toffee that welds your teeth together and such."

Millicent had no idea where he was going with this. "Hn."

"Well they're experiments," said George. "Sometimes instead of teeth sticking together, our livers might rupture or our fingernails might fall off. And sometimes if we get impatient we'll try a new experiment before the old one has worn off. And you know." He shrugged, mouth twisting wryly. "Sometimes our magic doesn't work in quite the same way that it previously had so normal spells sort of go haywire…"

Uh huh. They thought that the invitation going to her had been some sort of side effect of the experimental potions they'd been testing. That made so much sense that Millicent couldn't believe that she hadn't realised why the twins weren't more baffled about the whole affair. She watched George wide-eyed, trying to look as though she had no idea what he was getting at.

"You know what I'm saying, right?" he asked.

She did, but she wasn't meant to. "I don't think I'd like you without fingernails," she said.

"That's hurtful," said George. "I'd like you fine without fingernails." He shrugged, a slightly exaggerated movement, as though he was working himself up to something. "I like you quite a lot with them."


	28. Chapter 28

"What's wrong with you?" demanded Millicent, eyes flaring with anger. "Seriously? What kind of way is that to admit feelings?"

George had sort of been gearing himself up to be punched in the nose and stomped on a few times while he lay crumpled on the ground. This was a definite improvement, but still not exactly all that he could have hoped for. "Okay," he admitted. "Discussion of fingernails or lack thereof might not be the most romantic…"

"Who cares about fingernails?" snapped Millicent. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "Where's the hexing?" she asked. "The casual mention of how stupid you think I am?"

"I'm not really into stupid witches," said George. It seemed the safest option when he didn't know what he'd done wrong if it wasn't the talking about fingernails thing. "I see that you might get that from the fact that my brother Bill is with Fleur Delacour, but actually, she's really smart. It came as an awful shock to him…"

Millicent threw her hands up in exasperation. She looked as though she would have liked to turn on her heel and stalk away but didn't, scowling at George instead. "You're such a dumb-arse," she said.

George might have taken that to mean that she wasn't interested and that he ought to crawl off to nurse his wounded heart but…well, she wasn't walking away. And she wasn't punching him in the head. Sure, he was an optimist by nature, but that had to count for something? Perhaps if he started again and didn't mention fingernails. "The thing is," he said, smoothing his hair down because he didn't know what to do with his hands. "You're… uh… Well, things aren't dull when you're around. Kind of the opposite really…"

Millicent made a sound of exasperation. "This is even worse," she said, lines of annoyance etched into her features. "No wonder you've never had a girlfriend. You have no idea how to talk to them."

George huffed out a breath, creasing his nose at her. "What the hell do you want? Am I meant to tell you how gorgeous you are? That you outshine all the witches here? What? I bloody like you, Slytherin. I'm not going to couch it in lies." He didn't think he'd offend her, because she didn't get offended by the things that most people did; but he didn't expect her to relax either. Didn't expect a smile to curl on those painted lips.

"There," she said, brows arching as though to ask 'was that so hard?'.

Considering that George had no idea what he'd done right, yes, it had been. "What the hell?" he demanded again, lost in a sea of confusion and fast realising that he didn't know how to swim it. "Are you high on potions ingredients? You're making no sense."

Millicent rolled her eyes at him. "It's a basic facet of courtship," she said. "You're not meant to tell people how you feel, you idiot. You should get tips from Pansy."

George had seen maybe five seconds worth of the Pansy Parkinson courting technique. It had consisted of her feigning a sprained ankle to her paramour and dumping her supposedly sick best friend.

"I don't know much about Parkinson's moves," George admitted and carefully did not add that he didn't want to.

"Draco Malfoy then," said Millicent, waving a dismissive hand. "He's been breaking out his best moves in front of you for years. You should have been paying more attention and then we wouldn't be in this awful, awkward situation."

"Draco Malfoy," George echoed, brow furrowing as he tried to keep up. He'd always thought that Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson – but no, of course that didn't make sense given the night's events. "Who?"

Millicent tossed her hair over her shoulder, staring at him in astonishment. "Harry Potter, obviously. Malfoy's pretty blatant about it."

It was George's turn to stare. "Malfoy provokes Harry and sometimes Harry hits him."

"Excuse me," said Millicent. "Potter hits Malfoy a lot. Malfoy has exceptional moves. Potter is helpless to resist."

George continued to stare at her. His brain was beginning to map the connotations of her declaration. Slytherin affection was measured in bad attention. In the past few minutes she had called him a dumb-arse and an idiot and had suggested that he was too useless to get a girlfriend. By her own admission that was almost a declaration of – what? Lust? Like? Love? He ran a hand through his hair again, watching her through narrowed eyes. "Merlin," he said. "No wonder Slytherins barely ever have siblings. Their parents must break bones getting through that sort of courting ritual."

Millicent grinned. "If they do it right."

George laughed at her, caught off-guard by the smile. "Okay," he said. "Yeah." And it sort of made sense that she didn't like receiving compliments. It was a relief, because he didn't like giving them. Still, it was very Slytherin, this lying, cheating way of dating. Just because George wanted to be with a Slytherin, it didn't mean that he wanted to be one. Anyway, the alternative would be far more amusing. George hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his robes and smirked at Millicent. He had complimented her before, but on things that were a joke like her hair or make-up. This time he took a breath, looking her over, taking her in. Her breath fogged the cold evening air and her skin was tinged blue where the make-up had worn off. "You're a pretty amazing friend, leaving Granger and Parkinson to each other like that."

Millicent pursed her lips, the tip of her nose going pink. She shrugged, as though even that much of a compliment bothered her. "Staying there would have been super awkward." Her voice was impatient, as though she'd been getting away from that whole thing for herself more than anything.

George nodded, eyes never leaving her face. "Especially if Hermione had realised that you were the more attractive option," he agreed.

Neither make-up nor cold could supress Millicent's reaction this time. A red-hot blush flooded her face, spilling over to her neck and ears. She was staring at George in horrified silence. He wondered whether compliments had been the Slytherin weakness all along.

"You are," George pressed. It was true, but he was mostly still talking because the fact that Millicent had no coping mechanism for someone being nice to her was hilarious. "An infinitely more attractive option than Parkinson."

"What is wrong with you?" Millicent still looked horrified and annoyed; but she still wasn't leaving. "I told you, that approach to girls will get you dumped and all alone."

George grinned at her, slipping his hands into his pockets because it was either that or reach out and pull her to him. She was close enough but he doubted she'd appreciate it. "We've been in the same school, what? Six years together? I can't believe I haven't noticed you before. You're so worthy of notice."

She shuddered as though trying to throw off a particularly bad dream. "Stop it."

He couldn't help it, he laughed at her. When she glared at him in outrage, he held up a hand. "Wait, I've got a better one…"

But she never got to hear it; stepping forward into his space and leaning up into him. He didn't have to think about it, his other hand coming out of his pocket and arms wrapping around her, drawing her closer. Her body was colder than his, fingers already burying themselves in the warmth of his robes. Even on tip-toe she wasn't quite tall enough to kiss him. George bent his head down to her – stopped a hair's breadth from her mouth. This wasn't for a prank, this one counted. She closed the last few millimetres between them, and George was pretty sure that Slytherin or not, she was going to be the brave one in their relationship.

He traced her spine through her thick winter cloak, tangled fingers in her hair and mapped her mouth with his.

It stunned him how much he wanted her. Clown make-up, bitter winter cold and all. She smelt of wood-fire and tasted of butter. A combination that wouldn't usually make George risk frostbite, but on Millicent it held him like a charm – or a curse.

When she began shaking, he drew back.

"I'm okay." She pulled her cloak more tightly around herself and looked up at him, eyes clear and cool.

He kind of liked how unabashed she was about everything. It made him feel less self-conscious. He raised a hand to brush the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. It was plump and slick with lipstick that smeared when he touched it. "You're more than okay," he said. "You're amazing."

The colour on her cheekbones spiked instantaneously, eyes widening in shock before they narrowed in fury. It was the fury that George was waiting for. When he saw it, he laughed and pulled her closer.

"Okay, you're terrible," he murmured against her temple. "Call that a kiss? I've had better from my mother."

Her body relaxed and she laughed, the sound sharply relieved. "That's disgusting. You're disgusting," she protested, trying to wriggle out of his arms.

She wasn't trying very hard and she hadn't resorted to knees or elbows so George kept her close.

She stopped wriggling and looked at George, still close enough that he could kiss her by leaning an inch forward. Her face was pink with laughter, beige with make-up; eyes laden with the kind of bronze that should be reserved for low-quality cauldrons. Desire still flicked through George's stomach when she licked her lips.

"Compare me to your mother again and I'll start hexing off body parts, George Weasley." Her voice was steady and cool, but her eyes flickered with amusement. "You're as creepy as Creevey."

"You're as lovely as the sunrise," George countered.

She squirmed in discomfort but didn't protest. "It's too cold to stay out."

George shrugged and slung an arm around her shoulders. "Your dorm?" he asked as they headed back toward Hogwarts. "Mine?"

"Mine's closer," said Millicent.


	29. Chapter 29

He slung an arm around her shoulders, letting her curl in to his warmth as they headed back toward the castle. She knew he hadn't ever really dated, and it was weird that he was so comfortable wrapping an arm around her. But then, he had a big family and all she had was a cat so maybe he was just more comfortable with touching people in general.

"So," he said. "Tell me more about the courting rituals of Slytherins. It is an ancient art that I have been blind to for too long."

"Nice try," said Millicent. "But we Slytherins guard our secrets a little more closely than that. Why don't you tell me about the ancient art of Gryffindor courting?"

"We are a simple folk," said George. "When we discover that another person is awesome, we immediately submit a request for dating rights."

"What? You just blunder straight in? No game plan?"

"That's a rookie error," said George. "In the time it takes to make a game plan some other person might have submitted a dating request."

Millicent laughed.

"This is me submitting a request, by the way," said George, fingers tapping nervously against her arm. He wasn't looking at her so she chanced a glance up at him. From the angle she was on, she mostly got a view of jaw-line blurring occasionally when he breathed out fog.

"Processing times may vary," said Millicent as they reached the doors to the entry hall. "If you don't have a response in two weeks you need to re-lodge the request with accompanying nude photos."

He chuckled, taking his arm off her shoulders and shaking snowflakes from his cloak.

"Which will then be forwarded to the dating advisory panel." Millicent shrugged off her cloak and folded it over her arm. Fred Weasley and some of his Gryffindor friends were across the hall by the staircase, sniggering not very subtly at George.

He didn't seem to notice, ruffling his hand through his hair, eyes never leaving her. "Is there a form I can lodge to fast-track the process?"

"Sure, but it costs two compliments."

George raised his eyebrows as they headed toward the Slytherin dungeon.

"Good ones," said Millicent.

"Alright, I'm lost. Do you guys like or not like compliments?'

"Not like," said Millicent. "Unless we trick, coerce or force them from someone."

George grinned down at her. "You're charming."

"That's one."

George pulled her closer. "If I were to become the next Dark Lord, I'd want you at my side."

"Not a compliment," said Millicent. "I'm not a side-kick."

"Oh no," agreed George. "If you weren't my equal you'd be far too tempted to slit my throat while I slept."

Millicent quirked a smile at him. "That's two. So your request has been approved. Congratulations. You are the proud new suitor to one of the highest-maintenance Slytherins available. Please spend the next few days getting acquainted with all of the fine print that you missed in your rush to submit an application."

"Pah," said George. "Fine print is for the boring. I will take the nasty surprises as they come."

They didn't end up going to Millicent's dorm, finding an empty classroom to sit in instead. George hooked his foot around Millicent's ankle and she leant on the desk, using her wand to scrawl notes into the timber.

"You've figured out how to break the anti-vandalism charms on school property?"

"Haven't you?"

"Professors watch us too closely for anything like that."

Millicent shrugged and leant closer, showing him how to unknot the layers of protective spell-work on the desks. She nestled her free hand in the small of his back, fingers lightly grazing his spine through his robes. She didn't think he'd noticed until he bent down to press a kiss to her shoulder.

"You're still wearing pink to the ball?"

She blinked at him, disconcerted by the change of subject. The pink had been part of the prank; and it had been designed to embarrass George, but Millicent didn't think it would have worked. Knowing him better, he didn't seem the type to get embarrassed by something so petty. But it was an odd topic to bring up.

"Sure," she said. "That a problem?"

He merely shrugged. "Wear what you want. I'll compliment you until you die of humiliation, no matter what."

Millicent flushed and wriggled in discomfort. If he actually did start complimenting her, she was going to have to grow a thicker skin. All of this blushing and embarrassment was getting old.

George obviously didn't feel the same way. He grinned when he saw her expression. "Aw, look at you. So cute and bashful."

"I'm not cute!" Millicent wailed, stung to her core. After a heartbeat, she added, "Or bashful. Those are awful things to say to the person you're meant to be serving. If you continue there will be hexing."

"Uh…yeah, so I applied to date you, not to serve you. That was understood, right?"

"I fail to see the difference," said Millicent.

"For starters, you aren't allowed to hex the people you're dating."

"You really should have read the fine print."

He snorted and ran a hand through her hair. "I need to get back to my dorm. Transfig paper due in the morning."

She shrugged.

George got up, reaching for his cloak. "You got any free time tomorrow?"

She creased her nose. "Yeah, the five minutes walking from my Charms class to DADA."

"Perfect," said George and walked out.

Millicent kept working on her graffiti until Pansy came in.

"Where in Merlin's name have you been?"

"I was with you," said Millicent. "Until you abandoned me cruelly at the lake."

"I sprained my ankle!" Pansy wailed. She stalked over and jumped up to sit on the desk. "You won't believe how awful my night was! That Granger would not leave me alone. It's bad enough that she was all Muggle-born and breathing in my vicinity, but she just kept…" Pansy threw her hands up as though words failed her.

Millicent tucked her hair behind her ear and studied her friend's face. Pansy was chewing her lower lip, hard, face set in the stubborn lines it got when she couldn't control her emotions and she'd rather show fury than anything else. Her eyes were colder than they had ever been, and disquietingly bleak.

Millicent didn't know what to say. Pansy had never gotten anything that she desperately wanted. Now that she was this close, neither of them knew how to handle it. All Millicent knew was that being honest was the wrong way to go.

"She didn't touch you, did she?" she asked in a scandalised whisper.

"Yes!" exclaimed Pansy.

"No!" protested Millicent.

Pansy flung out her arms. "I know! Who does that? She didn't even ask if I was okay with muggle hands all on my skin and stuff. She didn't even use a gloving charm." She broke off, eyes darkening as she stared at her lap. She was sucking her lower lip now, looking lost. "She touched my ankle." Her voice was softer, partway yearning and partway anguished. "I don't know what to do."

Millicent reached out, took Pansy's hand and squeezed it. She couldn't speak. If she opened her mouth, she'd tell Pansy to try to be normal, to not screw up; and that would ruin everything.

Pansy shook herself and jumped lightly off the desk. "And tomorrow I have to be stuck in the library with her again – trying to find those stupid books. This is the worst week ever!"

She stormed out and Millicent decided that the next morning she would wake up early, go to the library and hide those stupid books better than ever before.

#

It was when she was in the library, shrinking a book so that she could bury it in the soil of the potted plant by the back window, that George found her. Because she had figured it would be safer to wait until Pansy was less of a crazy mess to tell her what was going on, she'd wound up with a face full of make-up again. Yellow this time. Millicent was pretty sure that no one could pull off yellow eye-shadow; but Astoria had sobbed like a child when Daphne had commandeered her 'Sunflower Summer' palette for pranking purposes. So maybe there were mystical creatures out there who could make it work. Probably the Veela.

"Ah," said George, stopping short some yards from her, scratching the back of his neck as he studied her warily. "You look…uh…yellow. That's very sunny."

Millicent raised an eyebrow at him, shoving the book into the pot-plant. "You're being weird."

"Ah." George chewed his lower lip, brow furrowed in concentration. "Can we talk? It's…It's kind of important."

"What – like private talk?"

"Not like that," George hastened to assure her.

Millicent rolled her eyes at him. "As if I'd let you ruin my make-up, George Weasley." He still looked kind of jumpy and anxious so she lifted a shoulder at him and headed for the History section, which was always deserted.

"I'm deducing that something is wrong." She stopped to lean against the nearest shelf, flicking her gaze across at George. An unpleasant thought struck her and she frowned. "It's not something to do with Granger, is it?"

"Hermione?" He stared at her, and it occurred to Millicent that he had no idea how much Pansy had riding on her efforts with Granger. He wouldn't exactly freak out if Granger didn't like Pansy back. "No. That's not…" he broke off, shook his head and scowled. "Look, you're not going to like this…"

"Then don't tell me," said Millicent, mouth twisting in a wry smile. "I did not schedule in time for listening to things I didn't like today. Better luck next time." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned to go.

"Millicent, please."

It was the raw note in his voice that made Millicent turn back – so much more vulnerability than any Slytherin would ever show. It should have annoyed her. Instead it softened her. She went back to him. "What is it?" When she reached for his hand, he jerked it away.

"People are talking about us."

Millicent tilted her head to study him; flicked through the connotations of what he had said. It wouldn't hurt Pansy and Granger. Even if the school thought that she and George were together, Granger would still think it was a prank. What else – what was she missing? "And?" she prompted.

George rubbed his hands over his face before shoving them into his pockets, looking miserable. "And I can't," he said. "You and me – we're on different spheres."

"Are you saying that I'm on the one that makes sense and you're on the one that doesn't?" asked Millicent. "Because you're using words, but they aren't coherent."

George closed his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. "I'm saying that we can't… I mean, you're fine. You're lovely. But I can't be seen in public with you."

That was unexpected. Millicent folded her arms, tilting her chin up, eyes narrowing. She was usually a pretty astute judge of character. Sure, she faltered from time to time, but never this badly. This flaw in George's character was something she should have seen; and she hadn't even suspected it. Maybe the fact that he was in Gryffindor had convinced her that he'd have no trouble braving the gossip. She shrugged. "Okay."

George dragged in a breath, chanced a glance at her and visibly wilted. "You don't know what everyone's saying."

"I don't care what they're saying," Millicent corrected him.

"Because you're not the one they're laughing at!" snapped George.

Millicent let out a laugh of disbelief. "You call yourself a prankster but you can't handle people laughing at you?"

"This isn't a prank! People aren't meant to laugh at my life!"

"They laugh at mine." If they had been in the middle of any other kind of conversation, Millicent would have felt sorry for George. Having people laugh at her was the high-light of her existence. When they were laughing over ridiculous things it almost became her reason to live. She would have thought that he got that too.

He shrugged. "You're a joke," he said. "I don't want to be one."

"Okay."

George chewed his lower lip, studying her. She dusted soil off the knee of her robes.

"That's it?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest as though he was bracing himself for something awful. "You're not going to cry – or hex me?"

She flicked her gaze over him, wondering whether he really thought that she would fight to keep someone like him. No girl would. "Do you want me to?"

He shook his head. "So you…you get it?"

"I'm lovely, but you can't be seen with me in public. I think I managed to keep up with the important bits."

"And you're okay?"

Millicent wondered what he planned to do if she wasn't. She lifted a shoulder and dropped it, mouth twisting wryly. "I'm keeping Ginny," she said.


	30. Chapter 30

Millicent might have blown off her classes that day, if there was something better that she could have been doing. If she did, she'd probably just tear herself up trying to figure out whether she could have read this situation before it had happened. Besides, Pansy and Granger were going to be in some of her classes so she could keep an eye on that if nothing else.

"Is that Granger cow looking at me?" Twenty minutes into their Charms class and this was the fourth time Pansy had asked. She was waving her wand above a goblet of myrrh, chewing the thumb-nail of her free hand, and was carefully not looking in Granger's direction – hadn't glanced her way once all lesson.

Millicent checked. Granger was trying to correct Ron Weasley's wand swish, and did not look as though she was aware Pansy even existed. Millicent wondered whether she should lie and say that Granger was looking just so Pansy would relax and not chew the rest of her nails to the quick. "No."

"Good!" exclaimed Pansy and hit her goblet with the wand so hard that it shattered. "She'd better not either. She has creepy eyes."

Millicent glanced across at Granger again. She seemed very focussed on the Weasley's hand, head bent over so that her hair fell in a curtain around her face, shielding her from anyone outside of it, as she adjusted Ron's fingers on his wand. And Millicent might have been wrong once, but she still trusted her instincts. Granger wouldn't hurt Pansy – not deliberately. And Granger wouldn't be a coward if it came to love. If anything, people telling her who she couldn't have would make her more determined to have that person.

Turning, so that Pansy couldn't see what she was doing, Millicent scribbled a note to Granger and tossed it into the air. It fluttered down to her desk and for the first time that day, Hermione raised her gaze to Pansy. Of course, Pansy wasn't looking so it was lost on her. It wasn't lost on Millicent – how Granger's gaze caught on Pansy's dark hair, how her eyes narrowed or how colour spiked into her cheeks.

She abandoned the Weasley's wand-swish and tore open the note. When she realised it was from Millicent, her shoulders slumped – just a little, barely perceptible, but enough.

Millicent shoved Pansy along on the bench when Granger stood up.

"Personal space!" Pansy snapped at her. "For the love of Merlin, Millie!"

"Uh…"

Both Pansy and Millicent looked up.

Granger held up the note Millicent had sent. "You said you needed help?"

Pansy curled forward, resting her elbows on the desk and smiling unpleasantly. "If I needed help, you'd be the last person I'd be going to."

"Whereas you're my first choice," Millicent told her, patting the seat beside herself.

"Yes, well you're smart," Granger told her, sliding in to sit on the bench seat. "I'm the top of all my classes. I'm the obvious choice."

"Exactly," said Millicent.

"I'm not…Geez, guys. Don't crush me into the corner like this. Shove." Pansy pushed against Millicent's shoulder with both hands. She was boxed in against the wall, but there was more than enough room on the bench for the three of them. "Shove."

When Millicent and Granger didn't get up fast enough, Pansy crawled over the desk.

"Merlin." She huffed out an annoyed breath and walked around to where Granger was, sinking onto the bench beside her. "There," she said. "I'm very delicate. I need air."

"Ah," said Granger, evidently trying to ignore Pansy's thigh pressing against hers. Millicent noticed that she didn't pull away though. "What did you need help with, Millicent?"

Millicent grimaced, but she was trying to be a good friend today. "I wanted to make Georgie an enchanted card that would sing and give him amazing compliments while he read it," she said and only hated herself a little as the words left her mouth.

Granger wasn't very good at lying or at being tactful. She looked taken aback and then said, "Oh," in a tone that clearly wasn't encouraging. A tone that probably kind of meant that she thought Millicent had hit her head several times and was no longer capable of being rational.

"I'm not very good at charms," said Millicent. "So I need help."

"Oh," said Granger again, in much the same tone. She turned to look at Pansy. Millicent couldn't see her expression, but Pansy raised her eyebrows and shrugged as though she thought that Granger should just go along with the crazy. "Well," said Granger. "Maybe… Have you considered subtlety?"

Millicent blinked at her.

"Alright," said Granger, giving up. "Let me work on it."

Granger was evidently better at the flirting game than Pansy. Within minutes, she had coaxed Pansy into helping with the card. They both bent over scraps of parchment, transfiguring them into brightly coloured cardboard and ribbon, elbowing each other when they didn't agree with the direction their creative genius was taking.

Millicent was pretty sure that they had both forgotten that she existed. At least neither of them consulted her on the card making process.

Neither of them noticed when class finished either, until Millicent pushed Granger's shoulder and told her. They both looked across at the clock, Granger's mouth twisting in disappointment and Pansy scowling as though she hated everything in the world and kind of wanted to destroy it.

"Thank Merlin," she snapped, jumping to her feet and brushing herself off, as though Granger had contaminated her.

Granger turned the card over, assessing it critically. "It's not quite done," she told Millicent. "There are a few things that I need to fix. Then I'll get it back to you."

Millicent shrugged. She was only going to burn the damn thing, so she didn't care.

Pansy, however, spun on Granger. "What exactly do you mean by fix?"

Granger smoothed her hands over the card, meeting Pansy's glare squarely. "Some of the creative directions you took were a little unorthodox," she said. "I'd like to work them into the card's main theme more closely."

Pansy curled her lips into a supercilious smile, as the last of the students in the room streamed out. "It doesn't have to be conventional."

"When I said 'unorthodox' what I meant was 'insane'," said Granger, sliding the card into her charms textbook and shoving the book into her satchel. "I have no intention of letting Millicent give this card to George. Not as it is."

Pansy frowned. "That's not…"

Granger stood up so fast that the bench Millicent was on shifted. "You can work on it with me, if you don't trust me. That's the only option you have here." She shoved past Pansy and headed for the door.

Pansy turned and followed. "Why would I trust you, you crazy Gryffindor?"

Granger was walking fast enough that they were out the door before she replied. Millicent stared after them, a little stunned. Granger was manipulative. Millicent was pretty sure that Pansy didn't even know that she'd just been played. Between the two of them maybe they'd con time off one another long enough for one of them to admit feelings.

Shaking her head, Millicent gathered her books and pushed them into her bag.

As she walked out of the now-deserted classroom, someone caught her around the waist, pulled her in and kissed her throat.

She snapped her elbow back twice, as hard as she could, aiming for the softest part of his stomach. It connected and whoever had grabbed her, let her go just as abruptly with a grunt of pain.

Millicent spun around to find George leaning heavily against the wall, clutching his side. "Merlin. Okay, that was probably my fault."

Millicent had her wand out and at his throat in two seconds flat. "Are you fucking insane?"

"Jesus," said George. "Get that thing out of my face. You've punished me enough."

Millicent kept her wand levelled at him. "What the hell are you doing?" Her breath was coming out in sharp bursts, and she was so furious that sparks were flicking from the tip of her wand.

George held his hands up. "You said you had five minutes between Charms and DADA." His voice was calm, as though what he was saying actually fitted into the fabric of a sane world.

Charms and DADA… That's what she'd told him the night before. Back when being seen in public with her was okay. Jesus fucking Christ. He hadn't actually broken up with her that morning. He'd just told her that he couldn't be with her in public.

She threw her wand at him, because if she held it a second longer she would kill him. She really would. And then, because the wand didn't seem to hurt that much, she shrugged her bag off her shoulder and threw that at him too.

He grunted, fell back into the wall and stared down at the bag in his arms.

"Don't you come near me again." She stalked away from him, moving backwards to make sure that he didn't follow. "My parents are Slytherin, all my friends are Slytherin, I'm fucking Slytherin. We know how to hide bodies."

George pulled the strap of her bag over his shoulder as though it was perfectly normal for him to carry her stuff. "Is this…" He frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "Uh – so you need some space?"

"I need a world of space, Weasley. For the rest of my life."

He adjusted the strap, looking mildly puzzled and not much else. "Uhm…I was kind of hoping to see you more regularly than that."

If she had anything else, she'd be throwing that at his head too. "Clearly. I hope the disappointment doesn't kill you. Actually, I kind of hope that it does."

He grinned at that. "What about the ball?"

Millicent stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him. If he thought that offering to see her in public now that the alternative was off the table – God, why had she thrown her wand away? Killing him was evidently the way to go. "I would rather die than go anywhere with you," she snapped, spun on her heel and stalked away.


	31. Chapter 31

"Skip class with me."

Ginny looked up in surprise as George fell into step alongside her in the hallway. He hooked an arm across her shoulders and leant a bit too much weight on her.

"Also help me walk. I am in pain."

Ginny squared her shoulders and helped him hobble to a nearby alcove where he sank into the window seat, whining softly. Sinking into the other side of the seat, Ginny looked him up and down. "What happened?"

"Ah – I was hoping you'd be able to tell me," said George. "I think it might be PMS. Are you knowledgeable in the peculiarities of PMS?"

"If you mean that you have cramps, the word you're using does not mean what you think it means."

"What I mean is when girls get really angry and hit the boys who try to kiss them."

Ginny frowned. "What? Did Bulstrode…" She reached for the hem of his robe, scrabbling with it until she could pull his shirt aside. "Holy crap." Her fingers brushed the edge of an angry purple bruise and George winced.

"Be careful with me. I am a delicate flower."

"What the hell did she do?"

"Well," said George. "It was probably my fault, really."

"George, no. Unless you hit her first, there is no excuse for this." Ginny pulled her wand and began magicking away the bruising with furious little jabs.

"So this isn't a PMS misunderstanding then?" George sighed. "I'd hoped that I could fix it with chocolate."

Ginny slapped him across the back of the head. "You are not giving her chocolate! Are you mad? You don't reward bad behaviour."

"I did kind of ambush her," said George. "To be fair, I don't think she realised it was me." He frowned. "I'm not sure who else would be suicidal enough to sneak-attack kiss Mill, but evidently someone."

"Probably Creevey."

George made a face. "Well, then. Good on her for protecting her…"

"Don't you dare say 'maidenly virtue'," Ginny warned. "I still have my wand aimed at your kidneys."

George wilted. "I really wanted to say 'maidenly virtue'," he admitted. "But you're right. Possibly not the time."

"Never," said Ginny. "Never is the right time to bring that phrase into fruition."

"Never is also the next time Mill wants to see me," said George.

"She hated you sneaking up on her that much?" asked Ginny, putting her wand away now that George was healed.

He readjusted his robes, frowning as he tried to figure out how to explain the situation. "Not exactly. I think she might be pissed off with me in general. Not sure why."

There was an airiness to his tone that made Ginny think that he knew exactly why. "Uh huh. Why is she pissed off with you in general?"

George sighed and slumped against the wall of the alcove. "I really don't know, Gin. It could be a few things, but both of them are really petty. Not the kind of thing I'd imagine she'd get upset about. Some girls, maybe. But not her."

"Go on." Ginny leant back against her own wall and gave him a cool look.

George huffed out a breath. "Well, she may have figured out that we know about the prank, right? It might piss her off."

"No," said Ginny. "If she'd been playing a nasty prank, sure. But her prank relied on you and the rest of the school finding her ridiculous. Someone like that doesn't care if they get bested. What else do you have?"

George rubbed the back of his neck, scowling out the window. "I didn't stick up for her."

Ginny raised her brows at him in question. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kicking out at a loose stone in the window-seat, George shrugged. "So we went through the Great Hall last night. Fred and some of our friends were there and they were sort of laughing at us. I didn't say anything about it. I mean, I didn't care. And Mill can take care of herself, right? If she cared she would have hexed them or something. She wouldn't expect me to."

Ginny chewed her lower lip, brow furrowing in thought. "I don't think so. We know that Millicent doesn't care about people laughing at her, even if they're doing it cruelly. Did she seem to mind?"

"I'm not even sure she noticed," said George.

Ginny shrugged. "I'm as baffled as you are," she said. "And I kind of have to get to my next class."

"Yeah. I should too. Thanks for the healing charms."

George managed to avoid Fred in class for the rest of the day, but they had Quidditch practise right after, and there was no getting away from him for that.

"There you are," Fred said, dropping an arm around George's shoulders the moment George got to the Quidditch pitch. He nodded in the direction of the Chasers. "Have you had a look at Alicia Spinnet lately?"

George picked Fred's hand up and dropped it.

"Or Katie Bell?"

"Fred," warned George.

"Pretty sure they'd have you. Oi! Katie, Alicia! You guys would date George, right?"

They looked up, blinking as though disconcerted. Alicia smiled first. "Nice try. If rumours are to be believed, he's taken."

"I am taken," George agreed fervently. "Thank you, lovely."

Fred punched him in the shoulder. "You're not taken. You have a date for the ball. That's one night. Bell, you'll date him after the ball, right?"

"I am sure that Bell has no interest in someone else's wizard," said George.

Katie grinned at him. "Maybe if you were Oliver Wood."

George laughed and would have retorted had Angelina not borne down on them, demanding that they fetch brooms.

It was full dark when George finally dragged himself back to the Common Room. He'd had about the shortest shower in history so that he'd be able to give Fred the slip and avoid any further discussion.

Instead, he ran into Hermione in the corridor outside of his dorm.

"Granger. Of course you'd be here, looking furious, at the end of this awful day. Your love-life must be doing as badly as mine."

Hermione coloured violently before shaking herself and scowling. "We need to talk, George Weasley. We can do it here…"

"No, no," said George. "We are not staying somewhere that my evil twin may find me. Let's go to your dorm."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Wizards can't get into my dorm."

George snorted. "Normal wizards, maybe. I'm a Weasley twin. I've been able to get into your dorm from third year."

Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder and headed back toward the Common Room, before taking the other staircase to her dorm.

The other girls in the room broke into muted whispers when George walked in, but Hermione shoved him over to the bed and pulled the curtains shut around them, blocking out the noise.

"Right," said Hermione, dragging her satchel around her hip and dumping it in her lap. "So, I have to give you something from Millicent."

"You're not going to hit me, are you?" asked George. "Can I say that I do not want to be hit?"

Hermione scowled at him. "Why would I hit you? Millicent likes you, you fool." She pulled a bright pink thing from her bag and dropped it into his hand.

"Uh…" George held it up to squint at it as it began to sing A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love. There were bows tied all over the card and they danced in time with the music. "What is this monstrosity?"

Hermione frowned at him as though he had disappointed her on every level. "It's a card that Millicent made for you. To show how she feels."

"Ah. I see," said George, though he didn't see at all. When Hermione gave him and expectant look, he undid one of the bows. A piece of purple paper peeled itself back from the main card and George read the back of it. Something about Millicent liking the smell of his hair; which probably meant that she was trying to creep him the hell out. It was kind of working.

"Each ribbon unlocks a new message," Hermione told him, leaning forward to demonstrate. The ribbon she undid opened a message that included the words 'I wish that I was your body lotion'.

George squeaked and dropped the card, shuddering in horror. If this was the kind of thing Mill did every time he pissed her off, he was going to be the best boyfriend in the damned universe from then on.

Hermione leant over to read the message. "I think that's kind of sweet," she said. "It means that she wants to be all over your body…"

"Please, Granger! I understand the meaning. Please do not rub it in." George shuddered and picked the card up again. "Thank you," he said. "I think I'll keep the rest for later. Perhaps years into the future I'll read it to remind myself that there are some major disadvantages to youth."

Hermione reached out to catch his hand. "George…" Her fingers scrabbled against the card and several bows came undone at once.

"My God, woman, you're making it worse!" wailed George.

Hermione scowled at him. "It's not that bad. It's a really sweet card."

George flipped to the latest note. "Watching you chew your lip in History of Magic, makes me want to tackle you to the floor and…Woah, that is excessive description. Agh." George folded the card again; feeling his face flush with heat. He tried to wipe it away, before frowning. "I don't take History of Magic…"

When he glanced at Hermione, she coloured a blotchy red.

"You take History of Magic," said George slowly.

Hermione cleared her throat, the sound sharp and kind of mortified.

"You chew your lip when you're concentrating," said George and Hermione buried her face in her hands.

"What the hell?" George looked down at the card and pulled open another bow.

"No!" Hermione reached out to stop him, voice harsh with panic.

Warding her off with his shoulder, George scooted back, reading the new note. "Your exhaustive knowledge of the library's cataloguing system makes me want you like _Hogwarts: A History_ wants a second volume… Okay, that compliment has you all over it. What did..?" He broke off when Hermione put her hand in his face, actually trying to climb over him to get the card. George pushed her back. "You and Parkinson?" he asked. "That's actually going somewhere?"

"I don't know what you mean, George Weasley," Hermione panted, still scrabbling to get the card. "That card is from Millicent."

George laughed at her. "This is what does it for you? You guys write love notes to each other and then give them to other people and say it's from someone else? People go to the mental part of St Mungo's for those sorts of things, Hermione."

Hermione gave a cry of outrage and gave up, slumping back onto her bed and glaring at George. "It's not what you think."

"I think it's insane," George told her.

She scowled harder. "Millicent wanted me to make something nice for you. So I asked Pansy to help. She's…she's really good at charms, and…and…"

"And you wanted to be near her," said George. "Yeah, I got that memo."

Hermione huffed out a breath. "Well, that's probably all over now." She looked tired and a little forlorn. She leant forward, pulling her knees to her chest and fixing George with a steady look. "I consider you my friend, right?"

George shrugged. "Anything you need. I've got your back."

Her face crumpled as though he'd said exactly the wrong thing. "I need you to forgive me. Not…not right now. Just don't blame me forever." She pulled a stack of paper out of her satchel. It grew as it emerged, until the sheaf was too big to be carried in one hand.

He straightened, brow furrowing as she pushed the pile across the bed toward him.

"I tried to convince you to do the right thing," she said. "Now I'm forcing you."

George picked up the topmost page and scanned it. "Laws?"

"Everything in there locks you into your date with Millicent," said Hermione. "I was never going to sit by and let you hurt someone so casually."

George flipped through a few pages. "How tight are these laws, Hermione?"

She winced and looked away. "I could not break that contract if I tried. There is no possible escape, no wriggle room at all. You would have to die to get out of it, and…and even then, if you came back as a ghost you'd be obligated…"

George raised his eyebrows at her before shaking his head and laughing. "Well," he said, rolling to his feet and picking up the stack of paper.

"I have copies," said Hermione, pinning him with her gaze as though she expected that his first move would be to burn the contract.

He grinned at her. "I'm banking on it."


	32. Chapter 32

George had hoped that Crabbe would be in the Slytherin Common Room again, and would let him through to the dorms even though he'd been pummelled for it the last time. He was out of luck. It was Malfoy who stood in the entrance when the wall opened.

He looked George up and down, his perpetual sneer curled on his mouth. "You are not welcome here."

"According to who?" asked George. Possibly Millicent had already told everyone that she didn't want to see him.

"Me, naturally. You may have poor Millie all wrapped up in you, but I know what you lunk-head Gryffindors are like."

George leant in the entrance, crossing his arms over his chest. "Really?"

"Only interested in one thing," said Malfoy, face twisting to a scowl.

George snorted. "Honestly, Malfoy. You sound like my maiden aunt."

A flush rushed through Malfoy's pale skin; turning it fire-cracker red. "Her money!" he spluttered. "Obviously I mean that you're after her money, you uncultured swine!"

George laughed. "Well," he said. "If you've finished casting aspersions on my good name, I think I'll head down and see her now."

Straightening up, Malfoy squared his shoulders. "Try it. I'll have you thrown out before you get half-way down the stairs."

"You're that worried about Mill?"

"I look after my people," said Malfoy.

"Really?"

"Always."

George shrugged. He wondered whether there was any truth to what Millicent had told him about Malfoy's feelings for Harry. It seemed implausible considering how Malfoy treated Potter, but Millicent had seemed convinced. "And if I were to, say, put in a good word with Potter for you..? Or better yet, what if I agreed to take Harry to the places I knew that you'd be?"

Malfoy stared at him, eyes glazing over, and breath coming out squeaky. "That…You'd…" He broke off, looking overcome – not with conflicted emotion, but with delirious happiness.

Millicent hadn't been wrong then. It was just a matter of whether Malfoy's crush or his protection of fellow Slytherins won out.

"Bulstrode is in her dorm," said Malfoy. It barely took him five seconds to betray his House. George was pretty sure that he had spent those five seconds overcome with joy at the prospect of being able to better stalk Harry.

"So – that's it? You don't care about protecting Mill so long as you get something out of it?"

Malfoy snorted. "I never cared about protecting Millie. I just don't see why she should get a Gryffindor if I don't."

Millicent was in her dorm. Alone. From the stormy expression on her face, George was kind of glad that she didn't have her wand.

He put her wand and bag on the bed furthest from her and walked over. "Hey."

She stared at him, as though she was so furious that he was in her space that she couldn't form a coherent sentence. And then she did. "Get out."

George winced. He'd kind of hoped that things would have blown over by now. Still wasn't sure that there was much that needed blowing over. "Look, hear me out."

"No." Millicent eyed him coldly. "I don't know what in the world might have happened to make you think that there is a forgiving bone in my body, but you can rethink the idea right now. I do not let people wrong me more than once."

If she was this stubborn and inflexible right at the start, there was a good possibility that he should give up. He just didn't – Apart from the crazy prank days, everything that he had seen in her up until now was reasonable. If he could just explain his side than maybe he'd be able to understand hers.

"This is about me not sticking up for you?" he asked. "I mean, is that it?"

"As strange as it must seem to you, I do expect my people to stand by me."

"I didn't think you'd care," he said.

Millicent stared at him, rolling off the bed to her feet, face almost purple with fury. "What kind of witch would not care about that?"

"You're not any other witch!" George exclaimed. "Merlin, woman!"

Millicent caught a porcelain unicorn off the bedside table and hurled it at him. It smashed against the wall, barely missing. "And so you expect me to accept things that you wouldn't expect another witch to?"

"It was nothing!" George yelled at her. "Are you serious right now? I like you – I made it clear that I liked you. That doesn't mean that I need to stand up to everyone else over you. If I'd thought that it mattered…"

He broke off when Millicent scrambled across Daphne's bed to grab another figurine. This one probably would have hit him, but he flicked it aside with his wand.

"What is wrong with you? You don't care about people making fun of you. Why do you care that I didn't stick up for you? It's not like you would have stuck up for yourself…"

Millicent had run out of figurines to throw so she pulled out the whole bedside table drawer and threw that instead.

"Please tell me that this has something to do with PMS," said George, deflecting that too. "Because you're not making sense."

Millicent threw the second drawer. "Get out! I am not talking to you about this. It's done." She glared at him, eyes as bitter as winter.

"Mill."

She shook her head furiously. "Get out."

He sighed and pulled Hermione's contract out of his pocket. Dropping it on her bed, he tapped it with his wand to return it to its full size. "Binding contract for the ball," he said. "Kind of hoped that I wouldn't have to use it." He shrugged and headed for the door.

Millicent scrambled back across the bed, grabbing at the contract. "What the hell are you… I am not going to the ball with you!"

"Good luck finding a loop-hole," said George. "Hermione compiled that. You said yes, so now you're legally obligated to spend the full night at the ball with me."

"I'll wear the ugliest dress in history!" Millicent spat, hurling the contract at him. "If you think my make-up's bad now, you have no clue. I'll get drunk and give myself a haircut and potion it baby-poo yellow…"

George laughed at her. "I can't wait to see you there. If your dress colour changes, let me know. I'll get a new corsage."

She stared after him as he left, and he got the feeling that if she wasn't so stunned, she would have grabbed her wand and started hexing.

#

He bypassed the Common Room and headed straight for his dorm, collapsing facedown into the pillows on his bed. He probably would have stayed there all night had Ginny not poked him a few minutes later.

"Want me to help you come up with a plan?"

He rolled over to grin at her lazily. "I have one. Sort of. If it doesn't work then nothing will, so I'll stick with it for now, thanks."

She nodded and sat herself on his bed. "Help me with my Potions paper then."

He grumbled, but her hexes had gotten significantly better over the summer and she used them on her brothers when they annoyed her, so he sat up eventually to help out. She didn't really need it, but she probably appreciated the company.

They had almost penned the conclusion when Fred walked in. He glanced across at them, mouth curving into a grin.

"Plotting evil plots, siblings of my heart?"

"Also of your blood," Ginny reminded him.

"And, in my case, of your ovum," said George.

Fred scowled and Ginny punched George in the shoulder. "You always go to the bad places."

George laughed, stretching his arms and back.

"You've both been strangely absent the past few days," said Fred, leaning against George's bedpost and looking a little too casual. "Up to anything exciting?"

"Mill, mostly," said George.

"I've been around," said Ginny. "Which you'd know if you bothered to look up from Angelina Johnson once in a while."

Fred's gaze caught on Ginny, dark and watchful. He jerked his head toward George. "What do you think of his sudden fixation on she of the snakes and darkness?"

Ginny's brows rose. "Millicent?"

"God, don't go calling her by her first name like we approve," said Fred. "She's Slytherin and – George, seriously, Katie or Alicia would date you. You're not good with witches, I get it. I can talk to them."

"He's fine with witches," said Ginny.

George laughed. "Well, I did just threaten one with legal action should they not go to a ball with me, but thanks for the vote of confidence, Gin."

Fred stared at him blankly. "You threatened someone with… But that means you found another date. That's perfect. Who is it? At this point I can handle anyone. Eloise Midgeon? That creepy girl who tried to slip Potter a love potion – Romilda Vane, was it? Even Moaning Myrtle would get my stamp of approval right now."

Ginny frowned at George. "You're legally forcing Millicent to go to the ball with you?"

"Woah." Fred held up a hand. "Firstly, of course it's not Bulstrode, and secondly, when the hell did you get onto a first name basis with her?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows at George and it occurred to him for the first time how much he had been keeping from Fred lately. At this point in time, it was probably something that he should rectify.

Nodding at his sister, he began. "Gin and Mill…"

Fred cut in, voice sharp with distress. "Don't go saying their names in the same breath! Merlin, Gin. I'd have thought you'd know better than to want anything to do with Bulstrode. And, even if you don't, I think you should keep away from her."

Ginny shot him a cold look, eyes widening in some surprise. Her other brothers might be painfully over-protective, but the twins never were. They tended to think that she could take care of herself. "I'll thank you to stay out of my business, Fred Weasley."

Fred scowled at her. "I'm serious about this. I'm pretty sure Bulstrode threatened you, so you need to back up until she cools off."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "She threatened me?"

"Woah up." George sat up straighter, eyes narrowing in on his brother. "When did you talk to Mill?"

"Why would she threaten me?" Ginny cut in.

"When?" George demanded.

Fred shifted from one foot to the other. "Before breakfast. This morning."

"What the hell did you say to her?"

Fred scowled. "Nothing that didn't need to be said. And it all went perfectly well. She didn't cry, she didn't hit me, or hex me. It was all perfectly civilised. Except that she threatened Gin."

"What did she threaten me with?" demanded Ginny.

"It was a bit cryptic," said Fred. "She just said that she was keeping you. Possibly it was a kidnap threat, I don't know."

A smile touched Ginny's mouth. "She wants to keep me?"

"You broke up with her?" demanded George. "What did you…" He broke off. That couldn't be right. Millicent could tell the twins apart. George scrambled off the bed and began digging through their potion cabinet. He pulled out the bottle of polyjuice potion and held it up. "You've taken more. Did you polyjuice as me?"

"Obviously," said Fred. "She can tell us apart. Merlin knows how when our own mother struggles…"

Ginny frowned. "How do you know that?"

"It's kind of obvious, Gin. She cheered for me the whole day when she watched our Quidditch practice, but ignored George. Then she seemed to realise her mistake and started ignoring me and hanging out with George."

"Right," said George. He stood up, yanked a dozen hairs from Fred's head and poured himself some polyjuice.

"Ow." Fred rubbed his head, scowling at George. "What are you doing?"

"Breaking up with Angelina," said George.

Ginny snorted with laughter but she also leant forward and jerked the cup of polyjuice from George's hand. "I get where you're coming from but you can't hurt Angelina because your brother is an idiot."

"I totally think that I can," said George.

"What has gotten into both of you? At great risk to my personal safety, I went and broke up with Bulstrode. You're meant to be happy, George."

Raking a hand through his hair, George glared at his brother. "What did you say to her? Exactly?"

"I told her that she wasn't good enough!" exploded Fred. "Everyone is talking about you, for fuck's sake."

"Who fucking cares?"

Fred blinked. "You…don't?"

George laughed at him. "You can't be serious. I've already told you that I don't give a damn."

"I thought you might when it started happening." Fred rubbed the back of his neck, eyes narrowing in thought. "The stuff they're saying – it's really cruel. I know you don't mind people laughing at you, but this stuff is different to anything you've had before."

George buried his face in his hands and swore quietly.

"Yeah, it's rough," said Fred.

That was nothing. Not compared to the fact that Millicent thought that George had broken up with her because he was ashamed of her, subsequently kissed her, and after that had hit her with a legal contract to keep her date to the ball with him.

He glanced at Ginny. She was watching him, eyes wide and mouth twisting wryly. He raised his eyebrows; a question as to how screwed he was on a scale of one to ten. She burst out laughing, which was a pretty good indication that hoping the damage fell below a ten was too optimistic. Considering the dark spells at the Slytherins' disposal, he probably wouldn't survive the night.


	33. Chapter 33

Millicent curled Slug around her hand, watching as the ribbon wound in and out of her fingers. Moving transfiguration magic barely ever lasted this long, and when it did the object in question would get slow and clumsy. Slug was as agile as ever, sliding along with casual grace.

"What happened to my figurines?"

Millicent looked up to see a distressed-looking Daphne.

"I smashed them," she said. "Sorry. It couldn't be helped."

"My grandmother gave those to me," said Daphne.

Millicent shrugged. The Slytherins knew better than to keep prized possessions around Pansy or Draco. They were bound to be destroyed in some temper tantrum or another. Millicent assumed that Daphne found the porcelain figurines hideous and kept them on her bedside tables in the hopes that Pansy's temper would be the end of them.

"We heard some interesting bits of gossip last night," said Tracey, coming in to lean on Daphne's shoulder and smirking at Millicent.

"Do share," said Millicent, turning a page of the binding contract with her free hand.

Tracey grinned at her. "So, according to the ever-trusty school grape-vine, a certain red-headed twin was cavorting with a certain Slytherin…"

Millicent held up a hand. "Please do not say cavorting. Cavorting is not a word that should be used in polite society."

"Frolicking, then," said Daphne. "Romping."

Millicent shuddered. "Let's go back to cavorting."

Tracey's lips twisted in a sharp smile. "It's true, isn't it? You've gone to the dark side."

"And been sent back," said Millicent.

Daphne blinked. "What does that mean?"

"It means that the Weasley's reputation ranks more highly than I do. Apparently he thought of me as a secret kind of liaison."

Tracey's mouth dropped open. "Are you fucking serious? Why is he not hexed to within an inch of his life and lying in a hospital bed?"

Millicent snorted. "I dated him for like half an hour, Trace. As though I care enough to bother learning new hexes. I will need some help breaking this contract though."

"What kind of contract?"

Both Tracey and Daphne came across to curl up at the foot of the bed.

Millicent huffed out a furious breath. "It's the contract that Pansy and Granger were working on to force George to actually attend the ball with me. Looks like they found the books and put the contract together. And then he used it against me, the bastard."

"I thought he was ashamed of you," said Daphne.

"Ashamed enough to want to keep me secret. Apparently he changed his mind after I refused. And now, because of this damn contract, he expects me to spend the Yule Ball with him!"

Chewing her lower lip in trepidation, Tracey reached out to pick up the contract. She grunted at the heft of it, got a better grip with both hands and dragged it down to herself and Daphne.

"Merlin's wand," said Daphne. "Why are there so many footnotes? And how many cross-references to each piece of legislation does she think she needs?"

"What does the colour-coding mean?" asked Tracey, sounding frightened.

"There are appendices to explain how to navigate the contract, there's an index in case we want to see where else certain laws pop up and there are graphs." Millicent slumped back against the bedhead, glaring at them sulkily. If George hadn't interrupted her that morning, she would have hidden the books so well that the contract would never have been drawn up.

"You're done," said Daphne. "The only thing you can do is plot out the worst possible thing you could do to the Weasel, and then put it into play."

"Ha," said Millicent bitterly. "Do you think Granger's an idiot? She made sure to put in clauses forbidding any cruelty on the date."

"Huh," said Tracey, deflating. She glanced at Daphne then back to Millicent. "You're not getting out of that contract. I suggest that you find as much wriggle room as you can and use it."

"Or hospitalise the boy before the date so that he can't make it," said Daphne, ever the meticulous one.

Only, in this case, Granger was more meticulous. Millicent shook her head. "If he's hospitalised I have to stay by his side for the entirety of the ball. He'd love that. I'd have to spend time with him and he wouldn't even have to face the school. No, if he's forcing me along, I'm going to make sure it's the most hideously mortifying experience that he's ever had."

"Oh good," said Tracey. "It's so much more fun to humiliate Gryffindors than to date them. We can actually help with that without hating ourselves."

Millicent snorted.

The door slammed open and Pansy stormed in. "Oh, you're all here. Good. Let's go and get drunk."

"Everything okay?" asked Tracey, because obviously it wasn't.

Pansy's face was reddened as though she'd spent the past half hour scrubbing it clean. Either Creevey had kissed her again, or she'd gotten emotional and was trying to hide it. With Pansy it was kind of hard to tell. She didn't have blood on her hands though, so Millicent was leaning toward overemotional. Pansy and Draco were so much the same. No middle ground. "Everything's fine now. I just spent the night dealing with that awful Granger."

"Oh," said Daphne, brows arching in interest.

"I know." Pansy leant against the bedpost, folding her arms across her chest and scowling at the girls. "It's completely over now though. We found the laws and wrote them up. And we made that stupid card. There's no reason at all for her to want to spend any more time bothering me."

"Oh," said Daphne again, tone graver.

"So let's get drunk and celebrate." Pansy's voice was kind of furious, and the accompanying glare was no less menacing. Knowing her, she'd skull a half-bottle of Fire-Whiskey and send Granger owls all night. If Pansy was a normal kind of witch, that would work well. The owls would be flirty little notes that would probably win Granger over. Pansy wasn't even close to normal, though. Instead she'd likely be sending Howlers demanding why Granger kept invading her space and insisting that she never do it again.

The night would end in tears if Millicent agreed to drink it away with the girls; but it would end in hexes if she didn't. Even if she usually tried to be a good friend, there were limits.

"We're going to have to raid Trelawney's stash again," said Daphne, climbing to her feet. "We're all out."

Pansy made a face. "Her stuff's always so cheap."

"But high in alcoholic content," Tracey pointed out.

Pansy didn't look any happier, but she shrugged.


	34. Chapter 34

They set up in the kitchens, sending Daphne, the quietest of them, to fetch a supply of whatever it was that Trelawney had squirreled away. The House Elves never minded; they mostly piled the scrubbed oak table high with snacks and watched the girls as though getting a visit was the highlight of their lives.

When Daphne came back, she was grinning. "So, it seems like the staff all gave Trelawney alcohol for Christmas, which works out so amazingly well for us."

She set her bag on the table and began pulling out bottles. "Clicquot, anyone?"

Tracey reached for the bottle and Daphne passed it over.

"We also have Gold label Firewhiskey, aged in the barrel twenty years; something called Unicorn Blood, which is silver, interestingly enough; and a Honeydukes cream liqueur, which we can have for pudding."

Pansy reached for the Firewhiskey, twisted off the top and tilted it to her lips.

"Bipsy can get you a cup, Miss Parkinson," said one of the House Elves, looking horrified that Pansy was foregoing basic table etiquette.

Pansy held up her free hand, still sipping from the bottle. When she lowered it finally, she shook herself. "No, thank you, Bipsy. A cup cannot hold enough alcohol for me tonight."

Daphne shot Millicent a sharp look, brows lowering menacingly. Millicent didn't know what she was meant to do about Pansy's ridiculous self-destructive streak. Tracey kicked her under the table and raised her eyebrows, demanding that Millicent step in and stop Pansy from sabotaging her non-relationship with Granger.

Millicent sighed. Sometimes being the sane one sucked. If she was going to act, she probably had about half an hour to do so before the drunken Owls began.

Pansy reached out and picked up a cinnamon star. "These smell like Granger's hair," she said. "It's ludicrous. What kind of self-respecting person has hair that smells like cinnamon?" But she ate the star and then pulled the plate closer, as though the scent comforted her.

Tracey kicked Millicent again, and Daphne stabbed her in the side with a fork.

Millicent whined in pain and stood up. "Bipsy, can you help me find goblets?" she asked, heading farther into the kitchen.

When they were far enough away from the table not to be heard, Millicent turned to Bipsy. "Could you go and ask Granger to come down here? Tell her that I need help with something pertaining to George Weasley. You know who Hermione Granger is, right?"

"Oh, yes," said Bipsy and shuddered. "She's that horrible girl who keeps trying to set us free. We is terrified of her, Miss Bulstrode."

"Please," said Millicent. "If she comes down, Pansy might drink out of a cup."

Bipsy looked torn, but the promise of better table manners evidently swayed him. He nodded and darted out of the room.

Millicent found goblets on her own and went back to the table.

Tracey had popped open the champagne and was pouring the frothy liquid into her mouth. Daphne tilted the bottle further with a finger and Tracey almost choked before she jerked the bottle upright and smacked Daphne in the face.

They both gave Millicent measuring looks when she sat back down. Then they ran their gazes over the five goblets that she set out and they smiled.

Pansy, however, scowled. "There are only four of us, dumbass. Unless Bipsy wants to drink with us." She scanned the kitchen for Bipsy before she turned back to Millicent.

Millicent shrugged, pouring merlot into one of the goblets. It was half full before Millicent realised that Slug had slithered out of her sleeve and was swimming in the liquid. She lifted the ribbon-snake out with a finger, making a face as she realised it had turned red from the wine.

"Right." Pansy pushed her palms against the edge of the table to lever her chair back and then stood. "I need parchment. And a quill. We should go to the owlery. Can owls drink Firewhiskey? We should give them some. It's so cold up there. It's very cruel."

Evidently the alcohol had hit her bloodstream all at once. She was talking fast, not waiting for one train of thought to pull in before she sent the next one out. If she was looking for owls and parchment, it was a pretty safe bet that nasty messages to Granger would soon follow.

House Elves thankfully had little need for quills or parchment. There were usually some lying around the kitchens, but never within easy reach. Pansy checked the drawers, coming up with baking paper, but no quills. Undeterred, she poked around in a few of the cupboards. From the soft white clouds that kicked up sporadically, Millicent surmised that she was stumbling across more flour than anything.

Millicent set to spelling Slug clean and dry. It would take Pansy a while to find what she needed and she'd probably agree to have another drink before they headed for the owlery.

Pansy emerged from the cupboards with a smear of white across her nose and tottered across to tackle the walk-in pantry, steadying herself against the benches as she went.

She was climbing the shelves when Granger walked in.

"Millicent." Granger walked across, frowning when she saw the open bottles of alcohol. In the pantry, Pansy squeaked and fell off the shelf.

Millicent wrapped Slug around her neck and smiled. "Oh good, Bipsy found you."

An odd look crossed Granger's face. "Bipsy?"

"You didn't try to give him clothing, did you?" asked Millicent as she used the lid of the Unicorn Blood bottle to measure three shots into goblets.

Granger scowled. "Don't you start. If one more witch or wizard tells me that they know better because they live in this world and I'm just a visitor, I swear…"

"You are just a visitor."

Granger's head snapped around. Pansy was standing in the pantry doorway. Her clothes were covered in flour and she had cobwebs in her hair, but she had found a bottle of purple ink, which she was tossing and catching with one hand.

Tracey and Daphne took their shot of Unicorn Blood, glared at Millicent and abandoned the kitchens, taking the bottle of Clicquot with them.

Obviously if Millicent had known that Pansy would ruin her chance as well with Granger here as she would have with an owl, she wouldn't have sent Bipsy. Now everything was ruined and Pansy would blame Millicent.

Granger's eyes narrowed. "Nice. I should have expected that from you…"

"What? The truth?" demanded Pansy. She stalked back to the table and took Millicent's shot of Unicorn Blood. Adding more alcohol to the situation really wasn't a good idea, but there were too many bottles lying around for Millicent to hide. And Pansy would probably hit her with one of them if she tried it.

Granger gave a short laugh. "And what do you know about the truth?"

"More than you, obviously. You don't listen to anyone. You don't ask about stuff. You just have these ideas that you decide you need to act on and you never think that someone else might know better…"

"I don't need to ask if slavery is wrong," snapped Granger. "The fact that it's legal doesn't make it moral."

It was kind of screwed up that they were fighting about this. Pansy liked House Elves. It was the only reason they came to the kitchens to drink. She felt at home around them even more than she did around her friends. She'd never said, but Millicent thought that a good portion of her crush was based on the way Granger saw House Elves. The way Granger tried to stick up for them.

"What do I care about morals? I'm Slytherin in case you hadn't noticed."

"Obviously I noticed," said Granger. "I tried really hard not to judge you on it. Evidently I shouldn't have bothered."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're just like Potter. Either you agree with everything he says or…"

Granger's face flamed. "Leave Harry out of this." She folded her arms over her chest. "And don't make comparisons like that. If you think that slavery is your basic human right then you are vile. I can accept you having different opinions to me on almost anything – but on that?" She shook her head. "There is nothing that you can say that would make me agree that you deserve to master another being."

"Well, I never said that I deserved to, did I? I said that you don't bloody listen. Then you proved my point by not fucking listening."

Millicent pulled the cinnamon stars across to herself and bit into one without taking her gaze off Pansy and Granger.

"You were sticking up for Millicent," snapped Granger. "And she was telling me off for giving clothes to the House-Elves."

"Attempting to give clothes," said Millicent through a mouthful of pastry.

"Feebly attempting," Pansy corrected with a sneer. She reached for the bottle of Firewhiskey, but Granger snatched it back and threw it against the wall. Probably a good thing. Pansy was mixing too many alcohols as it was; and she knew that she couldn't handle that.

"At least I'm doing something! I don't expect a centuries-old institution to be overthrown in a day; it doesn't mean I give up."

"You're so stupid," said Pansy. "I can't even."

Millicent wondered whether this thing had progressed beyond a crush somewhere along the way, because Firewhiskey was dripping down the wall and Pansy didn't even care. She hadn't taken her gaze from Granger.

"You're so corrupt, I can't even," said Granger.

Pansy smiled, drunk and kind of dreamy, like this was the beginning of a courting ritual. To be fair, it kind of was. "Hogwarts is a shit place to start, you fool."

Granger started to retort, saw the smile and bit what she'd been going to say back. She chewed her lower lip, watching Pansy warily. "What do you mean?"

Pansy threw her hands up in frustration. "Merlin's wand, are you serious? Your great freeing effort begins in the one place that House Elves are guaranteed a degree of respect? The one place where they are not brutally punished for misdeeds? The one place they have others of their kind to turn to, where they have sick days and holidays and people who will look after them if a student hurts them? And you wonder why they're terrified of you freeing them? Where would they go, Granger? What would they do?"

"Right," said Granger. "So you're like all the others. I should just stop trying?"

Pansy swore, picked up the bottle of Unicorn Blood and skulled a generous swig. She slammed the bottle back on the table. "How many Elves have you met that desperately wanted their freedom? Who would have fought or died for it?"

Granger tilted her chin up, eyes blazing with anger. "One. And he deserved it. The life he was forced to live before he was freed should not have fallen to anyone."

"So you might say he had nothing else to lose?" suggested Pansy. "You might say that he was pushed into the fight because death would be preferable to the life he had?"

"What are you saying?" asked Granger.

Pansy smirked at her. "When you start a revolt, you don't appeal to those who could be pushed lower. You recruit those who have nowhere to go but up. I mean, you would if you wanted to make a difference. As it stands, you won't."

"I won't make a difference?" asked Granger, eyebrows lowering in irritation.

"It never occurred to you that maybe the House Elves won't need your help? They'll topple this institution without it."

"Well – that's…" Granger broke off, clearly at a loss for words and even more clearly entirely unused to the condition. She shook herself finally. "Of course they'll need help. Every cause needs allies. This one especially. What makes you think that they can break out now when they haven't managed it before?"

"We're on the brink of the biggest war that our world has seen," said Pansy. "Power structures will collapse and be reformed under it. The Elves will have the ability to demand far more than they ever have once the world falls apart."

"They'll join us against You-Know-Who in exchange for their freedom?" asked Granger.

Pansy laughed. "They'll join the side that agrees to free them. It doesn't matter which one. If you want to survive the war, I suggest you get your side to see their point of view before the Dark Lord does." She picked up Millicent's goblet and drained it in one long drag.

Granger sucked her lower lip into her mouth, scowling at Pansy as she considered the conversation.

Pansy whined and leant closer to Millicent against the table. "She's chewing her lip again, Millie. It makes me crazy when she does that. It makes me want to tackle her to the floor and tear her clothes off with my teeth."

Millicent licked cinnamon sugar off her fingers, watching as Granger flushed a resplendent crimson. "She can hear you."

"No," said Pansy. "She can only hear me if I can hear her. And I can't hear her."

"You can't hear her because she's not talking," said Millicent.

Pansy cast Granger a side-long look as though testing the theory.

Granger sighed, came back to the table and sat at it. Smoothed her hands over the creases in the tablecloth and cleared her throat. "Well," she said. "Are you – are you on the House Elves' side then?"

"Merlin, no," said Pansy because she hated anyone knowing her weaknesses. She laughed sharply, shook her head and said, "Merlin. No," again.

Granger blinked before glancing across at Millicent, as though for confirmation.

Millicent twisted Slug around her fingers and studiously ignored everything else that was happening in the kitchen.

"But you know Bipsy's name," Granger told Pansy carefully.

Pansy waved a casual hand. "We call _all_ the House Elves Bipsy. They're like clones, you know. Interchangeable."

"And you managed to get him into my dorm when all of the House Elves save Dobby have point-blank refused to come as far as three corridors away."

"I am a dab hand at Cruciatus," said Pansy agreeably, picking up the cream liqueur and sloshing the contents experimentally before twisting the cap off.

Granger glanced at Millicent again, but Millicent was staying well out of this one.

Pansy took a slog from the bottle and held it out to Granger.

"That was a bad idea," said Millicent.

"Alcohol is never a bad idea," said Pansy. The cream liqueur must have hit her stomach at that exact moment because her face changed colour – becoming both paler and taking on a green tinge.

Millicent passed her the bucket that Bipsy had judiciously left by the table and Pansy snatched it just in time to be messily sick.


	35. Chapter 35

"Is this a regular occurrence?"

Pansy was passed out on the table, the side of her face creased by the bread board. It didn't really matter whether the occurrence was regular or not, but there were things Hermione wanted to know and she wasn't sure how to broach the subject.

Millicent shrugged an indifferent reply, focusing on a transfigured piece of ribbon that was weaving in and out of her fingers.

Hermione sucked her lower lip into her mouth and worried it with her teeth, frowning a little. It wasn't as though Millicent was all that smart, so getting the topic back to Pansy shouldn't be much work. But Hermione had been trying for the past few minutes without luck.

"That looks like a complicated piece of transfig," she hazarded. She wasn't just being nice. The underneath of the ribbon was discoloured, which meant that the ribbon had been a snake long enough to soil its belly. Maybe two or three days. That put the magic well out of Millicent's ability range.

"I'm hoping to teach her how to strangle people before the Yule ball," said Millicent.

Hermione coughed. "You…uh…you want to strangle people?"

"Just one," said Millicent.

From the ruthlessness in her voice, Hermione was kind of grateful that Millicent didn't have the magical acumen to transfigure homicidal snakes. "Right," she said. "Perhaps Pansy could help you teach it to kill on command." She licked her lips nervously and went on. "She did transfigure the snake for you, didn't she?"

"How do you figure that?" asked Millicent. She didn't look surprised by the question so Hermione was betting she'd gotten it right.

"Deductive reasoning," said Hermione. "From the wear, it looks as though the snake has been active for a few days. It's incredibly rare for transfig to last that long, so the obvious conclusion is that it was transfigured for you as a gift."

Millicent frowned, turning the transfigured ribbon so that she could see the wear on its underside and then creasing her nose at Hermione. "What do you mean? How would a gift make it last longer?"

This wasn't getting the topic onto Pansy at all, but Hermione persevered. "Well, transfiguration lasts significantly longer when the person transfiguring the object has some sort of strong emotional tie to the object or to the person the object is for…"

Millicent held up a hand. "That makes no sense. I mean, Slug's adorable now, but before she was just a hair-ribbon. You can't be emotionally attached to a hair ribbon."

Hermione laughed. "That's kind of my point. I mean, you and Pansy are really good friends. She obviously cares about you, so when she transfigured that ribbon…"

"Slug," Millicent put in, scowling at the ribbon as though it had offended her. She shoved it into her pocket finally and set her elbows on the table, glaring across the polished wood at Hermione. "What about simulated emotion?" she asked. "Like if Pansy had been drinking and she didn't really like me most of the time, but she felt like she liked me while she was transfiguring Slug..?"

Hermione shook her head. "It doesn't work that way. They've done a lot of tests using Amortentia to try and create longer lasting transfig products, but the emotion has to be real."

"That doesn't make any sense," protested Millicent.

Hermione knew that people thought Pansy was heartless, but she'd hoped that Pansy's best friend would be able to see another side to her. "Pansy can't be that bad," she objected. "I mean, we've been collaborating on a…project and she's really quite…" Hermione cut herself off. 'Sweet' wasn't the right word, nor was 'nice' or 'kind'. The words that fitted – witty, sharp, confident, fearless, tantalising – none of them sounded as though they made up for a lack of kindness. Hermione had been counting on kindness being found somewhere under the wit, sharpness, confidence, fearlessness and tantalisation. "She's so incredibly intelligent," she said instead, all too aware that intelligence didn't make up for a lack of goodness. The project that she and Pansy had been collaborating on had been to help Millicent; that had to mean something.

Millicent had taken Slug out of her pocket again and was squinting at it as though the entire fabric of her world was rearranging into a shape that she didn't recognise.

Hermione scowled at her. "You can't be that surprised. Pansy has been your best friend for years. You can't really have so little faith in her."

Millicent blinked and raised her gaze to Hermione, as though she'd forgotten she was there. "What?"

"You've been friends with Pansy a long time," said Hermione. It was impossible to put the questions she wanted to ask into words. Millicent evidently had no idea how to handle any sort of emotional complexity. If she was saying yes to invitations from George Weasley, her analytical skills were non-existent as well.

"Transfiguration like this has to be emotion-based? Someone who transfigured this for me would have to _like_ me?" Millicent asked, still studying Slug.

Hermione pressed her lips together, brow furrowing. If Millicent's thought processes were that slow, there was no chance of getting any real information about Pansy out of her. "Basically."

Millicent's eyes narrowed. "Fucker has Polyjuice."

The surprising utterance made Hermione bite back what she'd been about to say. "What?" Her mouth had fallen open and she shut it with a snap. "Who…I mean, what do you..?"

She didn't have time to finish her question, Millicent was already stalking out, face thunderous.

Hermione began to stand up, but Pansy sighed and rolled on her chair, bringing three House-Elves running.

"Miss Parkinson, we can take you to your rooms," said Bipsy.

She swatted at them half-heartedly.

"It's okay, Bipsy." Hermione slid off her chair and moved across to Pansy. "I'll help her."

She still had no idea what had happened with Millicent. Polyjuice had nothing to do with the conversation they'd been having, had it? Millicent had been stunned that Pansy had been feeling something when she transfigured the ribbon. Had she realised that it couldn't have been Pansy? If so, what was the alternative? Had someone else Polyjuiced as Pansy and Transfigured the ribbon for Millicent? If so, who? And why?

Wrapping one of Pansy's arms around her shoulders, Hermione helped her off the chair. "Parkinson," she said. "Does Millicent have any – uhm – admirers?"

Pansy blinked at her, eyes sleepy. "You mean Creevey?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. Creevey admired everything female in the school. If Lavender Brown and Parvarti Patil were to be believed, it didn't matter if the female in question was alive or dead. Hell, if Ron was to be believed, the person in question didn't have to be female. Hermione wasn't convinced that Creevey had actually accosted Ron for the memories he had of Boggart-Snape dressed in Neville's grandmother's clothing. She was pretty sure that Creevey didn't have a Pensieve.

But…Well, Hermione knew Creevey well enough that she never looked into that particular story of Ron's. In some things, ignorance was bliss.


	36. Chapter 36

The Armoury was quiet at this time of night. Millicent propped herself in the window-seat and looked out over the grounds.

Polyjuice was the most likely explanation and, in hindsight, there had been signs. Oh, nothing that she could have figured out. But little things. Like the fact that Ginny had been fine with pretending that Fred was George out by the Shrieking Shack. Or that the essence of Amortentia had felt like genuine emotion rather than blind infatuation. Or the fact that George had the exact same facial expressions as Amortentia Fred – but not as normal Fred. Okay – maybe if she'd paid more attention she would have been able to figure it out.

She leant back against the stone wall, eyes narrowing as she ran the past few days through her head. Merlin, that conversation with his father… Him touching her tail…

He'd fucking played her. And he'd done it really, really well.

Burying her face in her hands, she laughed until she couldn't breathe.

Merlin, he was going to pay. Him and that twin of his. As soon as she sorted out how the whole thing had gone down. When had it even started?

The day at Hogsmeade was the most likely answer. That was when Fred – no, George – had started turning the tables. He'd pushed to go to Madam Puddifoot's and had ordered the Essence of Amortentia-laced coffee. Surely he wouldn't have drunk it? But she'd know if he'd tipped it out. It would have shown up in at least one of Creevey's photos.

Unless… The clever bastards had got to Creevey.

But why the library thing? Why had Fred Polyjuiced as George to break up with her? Had he gotten over the prank – or had he not known about it?

That didn't seem likely. From what Millicent knew, the twins played all their pranks together. But… They didn't usually get Ginny involved. And, if Millicent was to go off facial expressions and body language, she thought that it had mostly been George. Except in the library.

Him kissing her in the hall – Him coming to talk to her in her room – that had been George. And he evidently hadn't known that Fred had Polyjuiced and dumped her. So this prank, it wasn't something that both of them were in on. Just George and Ginny?

Much as it pained Millicent to admit it, she was going to have to talk to Creevey. There was no other way to find out what the twins were up to, and if she didn't know their game plan it meant that they won and she lost. She was not going to lose against the God-damn Weasley twins.

#

It took Hermione a long time to get Pansy back to the Slytherin dorms – longer than it should have because Pansy kept stumbling at inopportune times, sending them both careening into darkened corridors. Then, when they got to the first bed in the dorm, Pansy's legs tangled with Hermione's and they both crashed onto the mattress.

Pansy's body was warm – and softer than Hermione would have expected, considering the sharp curve of her hips and points of her elbows – of her jaw. Pansy was quite pointy, all things considered. But, lying on top of her, there wasn't any sharpness. The length of Pansy's thigh rested against Hermione, their legs still half tangled together.

Heat tingled along Hermione's skin; skimming through all the points that connected to Pansy. Atoms and molecules sliding into each other, threating to set the world ablaze.

Hermione drew a breath; cinnamon and something sharper – ash? And Firewhiskey. She drew another breath, dragging the scent of Pansy deep.

Then she closed her eyes and pushed herself up.

Hands caught at the front of her robes, tight and urgent, dragging her back down.

Hermione's eyes shot open, clashing with Pansy's steady gaze.

"I'm spinning, Granger."

"It's the Firewhiskey," said Hermione. And then, because lecturing was part of her nature, added, "And the Clicquot. Maybe the Unicorn Blood. Probably the cream liqueur."

"I'm spinning." Pansy insisted, fingers twisting into Hermione's robes. She clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing until they were as sharp as her elbows – or her chin. "Pin me until it stops."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, gasping out a tiny breath as she pulled away.

Pansy jerked her back and Hermione unclenched one of Pansy's stiff fists from her robes. Kissed the strained white knuckles and let it drop.

"I'll pin you tomorrow." Her voice was hoarse, barely audible. "If you ask me."

Then she pushed off and headed for the door, not trusting herself to look back.

Given how late it was, the trip back to the Gryffindor Common Room should have been uneventful, but as Hermione turned into the Eastern Hall on the third floor, voices echoed through the corridor.

Whoever it was, it sounded like they were having a fight. Hermione glanced around, not wanting to get caught in the middle of the altercation. It was hard to tell where the voices were coming from. Too many classrooms opened off the hall.

Hermione pulled her robes more snuggly around herself and hurried on.

Turning the next corner, she came across Millicent Bulstrode and Colin Creevey. They were arguing so loudly that they didn't even notice Hermione. She backed up gratefully.

She could take the Eastern Hall one floor up if she went back to the moving staircases. There was more chance of running into Peeves, but that couldn't really be avoided. Better Peeves than Filch and Mrs. Norris.

"But I gave you what you wanted!" Creevey bleated.

Hermione froze. Perhaps this was about the transfigured ribbon, and that odd comment that Millicent had made about Polyjuice might be explained.

Millicent made a sharp snorting sound, and Hermione gave up any delusions she might have had that she could walk away from this mystery.

"I said that I wanted you to deceive me?" Millicent demanded. "That I wanted you to trick me?"

Definitely. Definitely about the transfigured ribbon. Had Creevey really Polyjuiced himself as someone else to give Millicent a gift to prove his affection? It was Creevey, so of course it was something he would do – but where had he got Polyjuice? And would anyone in the school be safe from his creepy advances now?

"You asked for proof of devotion," protested Creevey. "I gave you that. There was hugging, there was kissing…"

Hermione bit back a mewl of disgust. Creevey had hugged and kissed Millicent while Polyjuiced? But Polyjuiced as who? If it had been George, Millicent would have thought that he felt enough for her to transfigure a lasting ribbon. She didn't know that he was playing a prank, after all. So was she seeing someone aside from George?

"Stop confusing the subject! The fact that you gave me what I asked for doesn't change the fact that you deceived me…"

"I'm sorry, Millie!" Creevey's voice was a squeak of terror.

"Don't be," said Millicent. "I approve."

Hermione almost choked on her own tongue. Millicent approved of Creevey Polyjuicing as someone else and tricking her into cheating on George? God! Hermione had spent hours trying to find a way to keep George trapped into his invitation to the Yule ball and all along Millicent was checking to see if she had better options. And she was seeing _Creevey_ as a better option. Creevey! Creevey who allegedly wanted to put the memory of Boggart-Snape dressed in Neville's grandmother's clothing into his spank bank. Ugh.

"You're sneaky," said Millicent, an evident smile in her voice. "I didn't expect that, but I like unexpected things."

"You're not mad?" Creevey's voice was still squeaky, but there was less terror in it now.

Hermione pressed her back to the nearest wall for support, closing her eyes in the hopes that this would all make sense if she focussed. Any possibility of this being a misunderstanding vanished when Millicent said,

"It's kind of perfect actually." Millicent's voice became harder, "But I expect you to meet me at the Slytherin Dungeons before sunrise tomorrow. Don't let anyone catch you and don't tell anyone what's going on. And no more tricks."

Hermione fled, just in case Millicent and Creevey decided to get carried away with their new-found mutual creepiness and make out or something. The night's events had scarred her enough already.

Any hope she had of the night finally being over vanished when she practically fell through the Fat Lady's portrait hole into the Common Room.

George was the only one there, sitting in the chair closest to the fire. He raised his head when Hermione stumbled in.

"Evening Granger – or morning? How late is it?" He lifted his wrist to peer at his watch.

"Bulstrode's cheating on you," Hermione blurted out. She dragged herself to the seat on the other side of the fire and collapsed into it. "I guess I shouldn't have legally bound you to the ball."

George's eyebrows rose. "Mill? With who?"

Hermione opened her mouth but no sound came out. Surely the answer was too cruel a one to give? George might have been playing a prank, but even he didn't deserve to know that Millicent would risk losing him for someone like Creevey. His pride would never withstand a blow like that. No one's would. She waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't matter. But she is. I have the information first hand."

George slumped back into his seat, brows drawing together. "You saw her with someone else?" He didn't sound surprised – which was kind of odd. His whole prank pivoted on Millicent's supposed lack of appeal – so why wasn't he stunned that someone had found her appealing?

Hermione shuddered. "Please don't remind me." She leant back in her chair and scowled at George. "You probably deserve each other. You with your nasty pranks and her with her fickleness."

There was still the one question though; who had Creevey Polyjuiced as when he'd kissed and hugged Bulstrode? And why had she been surprised at emotional attachment being tied to the transfigured ribbon if the person transfiguring it had been hugging and kissing her? And…

Hermione sighed and ground the palms of her hands across her eyes. There were a million burning questions left and, for once, she didn't want any of them. She wanted to curl up in bed and think of the way Pansy's eyes narrowed when she argued, or how her fingers tapped when something annoyed her. The softness of her stomach against Hermione's thigh. The smoky scent of her skin.

"Granger?" George's voice cut through her thoughts. "Who was Mill with? And what exactly did you see them doing?"

Hermione made a sound of disgust. "Don't bring that up now, George! God! You ruin everything." She tried to shake the memory of Creevey off, but it was stuck now. She was going to have to shower. Hopefully those memories would scrub out.


	37. Chapter 37

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy clearly wasn't a morning person. His face was lined with pillow creases, blond hair sticking up like a noxious weed, but he hadn't slammed the door in George's face, which was something.

"Let's renegotiate."

"What?" Malfoy's eyes widened. "No! We negotiated already! I earned my stalker right to Potter. You can't change that."

George snorted. "Calm down, mate. No one's trying to dupe you out of anything. I'm offering a better deal. Now let me in. If Mill or her friends see me here, deal's off."

Malfoy grabbed George's collar and yanked him into the room. He slammed the door behind them. "Talk." Even dressed in rumpled, striped pyjamas, he managed to sound regal.

George glanced around Malfoy's private room. Swathes of expensive brocaded fabric, leather-bound tomes, a roaring fireplace – all the things that he'd expected. The weird assortment of stuff on the table in the corner was unexpected. George ventured closer, poking at one of the objects.

Malfoy whacked him across the back of the head with a scroll. "Leave that alone."

George frowned. "Why do you have a Remembrall?" If Malfoy's grades were anything to go by, his memory was only outstripped by Hermione's. "Only person I've ever met with a Remembrall was Longbottom. In fact, his looked exactly like…" George broke off, remembering the fate of Longbottom's Remembrall. He turned to raise his eyebrows at Malfoy.

Malfoy's chin came up, pale pink staining his throat and the tip of his nose.

"Really," said George. "That's the Remembrall you and Potter fought over?"

The pink swept across the rest of Malfoy's face. "What of it, Weasley?"

"He was _eleven_ , Malfoy."

Malfoy threw his arms up. "So was I! And anyway, he looked damn good on a broom."

George lifted a scrap of red material with his forefinger. "Is this a _shrine_? Merlin's wand, Malfoy."

"You don't get to barge into my room and judge me," said Malfoy with cold dignity. "Now where are my nude photos?"

George choked. "Excuse me? Your what now?"

Malfoy folded his arms over his chest and glared at George. "What is this better deal if it's not nude Potter photos? What did I let you in here for if you weren't a supply to my demand?"

George's eyes kept going back to the bizarre Potter-shrine. "Okay, I'm going to disregard your super-unethical demand, because my curiosity is kind of killing me right now." He held the scrap of red fabric up. "Is this Harry's tie? Like his school tie?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "As you see. I have Potter's tie. I have his favourite Chocolate Frog card. I have several of his homework assignments. I have a piece of his chewed gum. You know what I don't have?"

George hazarded a guess. "Reason?" he asked. "Stability? Self-respect?"

"Nude photos," said Malfoy. "And if you're not here to help me with my problem, you can leave."

Seeing as ethics didn't hold much sway with Slytherins, George didn't bother arguing. Instead he pulled himself away from the shrine and went across to the window. He dragged in a steadying breath. He was probably going to regret this – definitely going to regret this. Hopefully Mill would be worth it. "How would you like an invitation to the Burrow for all major holidays for the next year?"

Malfoy's face creased. "What's a Burrow? It sounds dirty."

"The Burrow is my familial home."

Malfoy made a face. "Ugh. Is that a threat?"

George rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Use your brain, Malfoy. Our house is the closest thing Harry has to a home. Where do you think he goes for Christmas and New Year and Easter?"

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Oh," he said.

"Obviously I need your help in return."

Malfoy nodded. "I can get you one of Millie's school ties."

"Geez, Malfoy. What would you even want with a school tie?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It's kinky."

"Uh…How exactly?"

Malfoy smirked at him. "You have no imagination. Think of the things you can do with a tie. You can use it as an excuse to get near someone – to help them tie it, or help them adjust it. Use it to drag someone closer." His mouth tugged upward. "You can tie someone up with it."

George laughed. "Yeah, okay. Point taken. But not what I'm after."

Malfoy huffed out a breath. "Okay," he said, squaring his shoulders. "I'll have to Obliviate myself afterwards, but yes, I can get you nude Millicent Bulstrode photos." He shuddered as though he couldn't quite contain his horror.

"Also not what I had in mind," said George.

"Well, what do you want then?" demanded Malfoy.

"Information," said George. "Apparently Mill's seeing someone else. I want to know who."

Malfoy snorted. "Impossible. It's bizarre enough that one guy at Hogwarts likes her. Two would be ridiculous." His brow creased. "Unless she has Amortentia…"

It was official. Slytherin was the House for the insane. Cunning, perhaps, but mental. No wonder the school kept them in the dungeons. "She doesn't have Amortentia, Malfoy."

"Aha! That is exactly what someone under the influence of Amortentia would say."

George sighed. "Focus, Malfoy. If I were under the influence of Amortentia, I'd be following Mill like a puppy, not talking to you."

"You have a point. I still don't believe that more than one person would be the slightest bit interested in Millie. She can't read, you know? And she talks to her cat."

"I talk to my puffskein."

Malfoy's brows rose. "You own a puffskein? Well, now I can see what draws you to Millicent Bulstrode. Her manly arms and strong jawline."

George gave a bark of laughter. "You're making gay jokes? You?"

Mouth quirking, Malfoy shrugged. "Alright. What do you know about this alleged person who allegedly likes Millie?"

"Not much. Mill was seen liaising with someone last night. Whoever it was is the person in question or knows about the person in question. So I need you to figure out who she was talking to."

"Two years," said Malfoy. "I get invitations to all major events for two years."

George closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands. That was too far. Mill wasn't worth more than a year of that sort of torture, especially if she was already dating someone else and all this had been a prank. But he nodded curtly. "Deal."

Malfoy's mouth curled. "I don't know about last night," he said. "But I can tell you that Creevey rocked up down here at around sunrise with a present for Millie. And I can tell you that they spent quite a while whispering to each other and that she accepted the present. So, get out. I'm going back to bed."

George stared at him. "Are you mental? Mill's not going to be dating Creevey."

"But Creevey brought her a present," said Malfoy.

"Figure out who she was with last night," said George. "Let the Creevey lead go. She's not desperate."

Malfoy grumbled but went to his wardrobe to find a change of clothes.

George left him to it. He wanted to question Hermione again before she went down to breakfast.

…

Millicent stretched and yawned in the alcove outside the dungeons. Creevey was right, he had given her what she'd asked for – photos of her and a Weasley twin in compromising positions. But he'd kept vital information back from her as well. She'd been up half the night and had broken a myriad of school rules, but she was pretty sure that she knew how things had gone down now – which twin had done what. She kind of felt bad for hitting George but, really, if he couldn't keep his clone in check he kind of deserved it.

She must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, Creevey was shaking her awake. She started and pushed him away. "Do you have it?"

Creevey held out a swathe of scarlet fabric, embroidered with gold flame. "I can help you magic it bigger," he offered.

Millicent unrolled the cloth. Inside was a jewellery box. She raised her eyebrows and Creevey nodded.

"It's all there – like you said."

"Thank you, Creevey."

He stared at her. "You're not making me go away?"

"Well, I would like you to go away," Millicent admitted. "But not as much as I usually do."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," said Creevey, his eyes misting. He stayed where he was, watching her intently and breathing through his mouth.

"Don't get used to it," said Millicent. She tucked the fabric bundle under her arm and headed back for the Slytherin Common Room.

She woke to the sound of Tracey and Daphne giggling. Sitting up, she glanced across. They were sitting on Pansy's bed, prodding at her sleeping form. Both were wearing the same clothes as they had the night before and both were a little tipsy. Had probably been up all night.

Millicent glanced at the clock.

"How did Pansy and Granger's thing go?" asked Tracey.

Daphne prodded Pansy once more and looked up. "Pansy doesn't look as though she's been hexed so the fight can't have been too bad."

Millicent ran a hand through her tangled hair. "You'll have to get the details from her. I'm running late."

Tracey's gaze fell on the velvet gown hanging from Millicent's bedrail. "So pretty."

Daphne frowned. "That will never fit you."

"Not yet," agreed Millicent, catching up the brush on her bedside table. It barely went two inches through her hair before becoming tangled.

"It's a Gryffindor dress," Tracey complained.

Millicent laughed shortly. "That's the point. It's for a Gryffindor."

Both Tracey and Daphne abandoned Pansy, crossing the room to lean against Millicent's bedposts instead.

"Spill." Daphne's voice was sharp with curiosity.

"There's a new game?" Tracey's eyes were bright with interest but she sounded unsure.

"Same game," said Millicent. "Final match." She scooped the jewellery box off the bedside table and flipped the lid back.

Daphne leant in, brow furrowing. "What? Are you planning on making a voodoo doll?"

Tracey flicked an ornate gold necklace aside and raised her eyebrows at Daphne. "Is that..?"

"Yes," said Millicent. "It is. Are you guys helping with the final play?"

Daphne grinned. "What do we do?"

…

George managed to catch Hermione before she left the dorm. He tilted his chin up at her and headed for the window seat. She joined him a few moments later. "What's up?"

"Let's talk about Mill's other gentleman friend," said George.

Hermione made a face. "Let's not. Really, George, I'm doing you a favour by not telling you. It's not something you'd want to know."

George knew Hermione's resolved face. She used it on him often enough. "Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "Compromise. You give me clues and if I take it upon myself to put them together I can't blame you."

Hermione huffed out a breath.

"You've trapped me in a date with the girl," George reminded her. "You owe me something."

"Fine, fine." Hermione sat on the window seat and scowled at George. She dragged in a breath, mouth twisting in thought. "Okay, so this guy has enough feelings for Millicent that his Transfiguration lasts upwards of two days."

George's brows rose. "The snake?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "The ribbon, yes. But, until recently he wasn't secure in her love so when he transfigured the ribbon he was actually Polyjuiced as someone else."

George coughed in surprise. "Come again?"

Hermione sighed. "I explained to her about the ribbon. That it shouldn't still be moving if the person who transfigured it didn't have feelings for her. I guess whoever the guy Polyjuiced as _didn't_ have feelings for her because she figured out pretty fast that there was Polyjuice or something involved."

George rubbed a hand over his face. Okay, so Mill had caught up already. How long had she known Polyjuice was involved? Couldn't have been long. "When did you have this conversation?"

"Last night."

The whole thing was getting more convoluted. Was so convoluted that even Hermione was getting things wrong. "When you saw her with her other suitor?"

"No, before that. And please don't say suitor. It's archaic."

"Right," said George. "Next hint."

"I don't have any more hints," protested Hermione. "This whole thing is completely baffling to me. I can't even get my head around it and, honestly, I don't want to. Now please let me go downstairs and eat breakfast under the adoring glower of my not-girlfriend, Pansy."

George snorted with laughter. "How are things going there?"

Hermione mewled with frustration. "It's all fury and wrath until she's drunk."

"I've heard drunk hook ups are okay," said George.

Hermione scowled at him. "You have no idea about how to respect a woman, George Weasley. No wonder Bulstrode is cheating on your ass."

"Ask Parkinson to the Yule Ball," said George.

Hermione made a face. "I'm going with Harry. It's too late to…" She shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't anyway but you know."

One of George's eyebrows flicked up. "That's kind of… Yeah, I mean Harry's a strapping lad. I'm sure you'll have fun."

Hermione laughed. "He's my best friend. Of course I will. Wouldn't have minded going to a dance with Parkinson before she got bored of me though."

"In the mean time you can enjoy your glower-y breakfast," suggested George.

…

When George walked into his dorm, Malfoy was sitting on George's bed, eating a slice of lemon cake that Molly had sent.

"Geez, Malfoy. How did you even get in here?"

Malfoy set the slice of cake on his knee. "I learnt in first year. How do you think I stock my Potter shrine?"

"Christ," said George. "I hope you have news."

Malfoy licked the icing off each of his fingers, like a fastidious cat. When he was done, he held his still glistening index finger up. "You were right. Creevey was not our guy."

"Did you really waste time investigating Creevey? I told you…"

"It's lucky that I investigated Creevey," Malfoy shot back. "Because Creevey is our go-between."

So Mill did have an actual boyfriend then. George crossed the room and sat on the other end of his bed. "Go on."

Picking the slice of cake up, Malfoy began to lick the icing directly from it.

"Malfoy."

Malfoy sniffed imperiously. "You woke me at an ungodly hour this morning. You dragged me from my bed, demanding hard labour before I had even had my breakfast. I need this sugar right now, George Weasley."

George sighed. Pushing further would likely cause more delay so he waited for Malfoy to finish the cake.

"Alright." Malfoy wiped his sticky fingers on George's bedspread and smiled. "So, the guy you have been looking for, in actual fact, is not a guy."

"Come again?"

"Mill's making a shrine to her beloved as well," said Malfoy. "And Creevey's the one who's gathering the pieces."

This day was getting more and more bizarre. First with Hermione so determined not to tell him what was happening and now with Malfoy's weird shrine theory. Had Millicent asked Creevey to steal Hermione's things so that Parkinson could have a shrine? "What pieces?" asked George.

"Same sorts of things I have," said Draco. "An article of clothing. Stolen lock of hair. An heirloom necklace. Mud from the Quidditch pitch…"

Quidditch pitch? "Malfoy, who the hell is this shrine for?"

Malfoy reached out to pat him on the shoulder. "Don't know how to break it to you mate, but Millie's been dating you to get closer to Angelina Johnson."

George spluttered in astonishment. The declaration was so far off the radar of things he'd been prepared for that day, that for long moments he actually couldn't speak.

Malfoy picked up another piece of cake. "Can't blame her, though. I mean, I wouldn't know myself, but Angelina has those breasts that guys seem to be quite fond of. And that flicky hair. I like flicky hair. Potter can have some flicky hair when he gets into a strop. Makes it worth getting hit."

George tried to speak again – and once more failed. Malfoy talked on about Potter's hair and eyes and mouth, oblivious to George's distress.

Finally George figured out how to work his mouth. "Fuck," he said. "Jesus fucking Christ."


	38. Chapter 38

 

Dragging Harry's invisibility cloak on, George hurried along the corridor. He pulled the Marauder's Map out of his pocket again – just to check they hadn't moved. No. both names hovered in the same place they had been a few minutes before – the top of the Astronomy Tower stairs.

George muttered a spell to muffle his footsteps and broke into a sprint. He rounded the last corner on the stairs. Lee Jordan was leaning against a column by one of the long windows. George slowed, taking the last four stairs cautiously.

Fred sat on one of the window seats, stroking Angelina Johnson's hair as she reclined in his lap.

George let out an unsteady breath. He liked Angelina – he did. He just hadn't ever noticed her in the way that Fred did. Had never really looked at her. He looked now.

She stretched, a smile curling on her full mouth, tawny eyes bright with amusement. She _was_ gorgeous. George grinned despite himself. Suddenly Malfoy's ridiculous shrine-making pastime didn't seem so ludicrous. He leant against the Astronomy Tower wall, watching her.

She flipped her hair, pushing away from Fred and turning to face him. "You're being ridiculous."

Fred scowled. "Back me up here, Lee. George is kind of acting insane right now."

"A bit," agreed Lee, traitor that he was. "But," he added. "Your brother should be able to date any witch he likes without you breaking up with them for him."

"But…" protested Fred.

Lee held up a hand. "Even if the witch he likes is the worst choice in the universe."

"He doesn't like her," protested Fred. "Who could? You've seen her…"

"I think you're jealous," said Angelina.

Fred snorted. "I don't care if George dates. I just don't want him dating _her_."

Angelina's mouth quirked. "That's exactly what I mean, Fred Weasley. If you wanted her, you should have gotten in first."

Fred and Lee both choked – one in outrage, the other in amusement. Fred slapped Angelina across the back of the head. "Shut your foul mouth, woman. My God, she can't even read!" He shuddered in revulsion. "No, look, this is just George being dumb and thinking he can't do any better. He doesn't want her; he's settling for her."

"He might not be settling," said Angelina. "He's kind of the less attractive twin."

"This is true," agreed Fred.

Lee rolled his eyes.

Fred saw and gave him the finger. "But the less attractive Weasley twin is still pretty damn hot."

"Anyone who's seen the both of you would be crazy to want George," said Angelina. She ran her gaze across the line of Fred's shoulders. "He doesn't compare."

Fred tilted his head. "What's wrong with your hair?"

Angelina reached a hand up to touch the ends of her hair. It darkened under her fingers, becoming shorter as she ran her hand through it.

Fred squeaked, jerking away from her.

"What?" Angelina tried to move closer, but her voice gave out – coming out harder than Angelina's melodic intonation.

Lee swore in alarm. Fred fell off the window seat with a wail of horror.

"What on earth is wrong with you?" All traces of Angelina were gone. In her place sat Millicent Bulstrode, pouting sulkily. She must have worked some spell on the clingy red and gold dress, because it had expanded to fit her.

Fred screamed – a long, ear-bursting howl of betrayal and horror.

George had to shove a swathe of invisibility cloak into his mouth to keep from laughing. She was absolutely, positively gorgeous. Shrines should be kept for her.

Fred and Lee scrambled for the stairs. George only just had time to press himself out of their way against the wall. He felt the brush of their robes as they scurried away with Fred casting frantic scourgify spells on his body as he ran.

George doubled over by the stairwell, the force of his silent laughter making his stomach muscles ache.

He leant back against the wall finally, head tilted up to watch Mill. She sat on the window seat, a smile playing around her mouth as she twirled her wand. It was all good now. He knew what was going on; she knew what was going on. There wasn't any explaining left to do.

George yawned. He'd spent the full night trying to figure out what Hermione had been talking about. He needed sleep before the ball.

But – Mill was sitting against the rising sun. The golden glow highlighted her smug grin, and sparked against her hard gaze. Sleep was less important than this.

…

Malfoy was at the Slytherin table when George trudged into the Great Hall. He was one of the last people eating. George rubbed at his eyes and dragged himself over to slump across from Malfoy.

Malfoy was too busy tearing into fistfuls of pastries and cheese to acknowledge him. Finally, after devouring three Danishes dipped in cream, one crusty roll and a handful of berries, Malfoy glanced across at George. He licked his fingers clean, picked up his mug and drained it of pumpkin juice. "I didn't get to watch Potter eat this morning," he said.

George stretched. "I suppose that's my fault?"

"It is," agreed Malfoy. He stuck a hand in his pocket, felt around and pulled out a rough, dark stone. He put it on the table. "Why does Potter keep things like this?"

Figured. Since Malfoy had been in Gryffindor Tower anyway, of course he would stop by and steal something else from Harry. "I can tell you," said George. "But you have to promise not to use it against him."

Malfoy blinked. "You'd trust my promise?"

George laughed – the sound hollow with exhaustion. A week ago he wouldn't have. Slytherins had no moral boundaries. Or at least George didn't understand the moral boundaries that they did have. But the lines were all blurred now. "I didn't say anything about trust. I said that I'd tell you if you promised."

"Well, obviously I promise." Draco looked miffed that he had to vocalise a point that he was so evidently going to agree to.

"Hermione says that it's behaviour that can show up in kids who grew up without anything. They can hoard the kind of things that are pretty much worthless." George picked the stone up and turned it over. A thin line of lighter stone ran through the underside of it. "Quartz. For a kid that didn't even get his own clothes, this would have been something beautiful that belonged only to him."

Malfoy reached out and snatched the stone back. He was scowling. "That's stupid. Your family doesn't have anything and I bet there aren't any worthless stones in your room."

George shook his head. "It's different. We have parents. We've got siblings. We always have food. And none of us ever had to sleep in a cupboard without windows for ten years."

Malfoy held the stone up to the light. "This means something then? This is important – to him?"

George nodded. "You should probably put it back. He can replace a tie or redo a parchment. That stone – it's not replaceable."

Malfoy tucked it into his pocket, chin tilting up. "All your reasons for wanting me to put it back are the reasons I'm not going to. What's a tie to this? Or a parchment? Even a piece of chewed gum?"

George rubbed a hand over his face. "I thought you cared about him."

"I'm not selfless," said Malfoy, his jaw set, and eyes narrowed in irritation. "I want him. If I can't have him, I'll settle for the things he loves."

George laughed. "I guess that's fair."

"It is fair," said Malfoy. "I hope he does suffer when he can't find this stone. I suffer every day when I can't have him."

Slytherins were mental. George had no idea why he liked them so much.

Malfoy poured himself another glass of pumpkin juice. "It wasn't mud," he said.

George's brow furrowed. "Sorry?"

"It wasn't mud," said Malfoy. "I said that Creevey had collected mud from the Quidditch pitch – I mean, that's what he thought it was. But it was Polyjuice potion."

"Yeah," said George. "You just figured that out now?"

"I needed to eat," said Malfoy. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I don't have cognitive function without it."

"I'm not criticizing," said George. "It's impressive that you put it together at all. I wouldn't have figured it out if I didn't know that Polyjuice potion was available in the school."

"So the dress." Malfoy twirled his fork. "The lock of hair… Millie used those things to Polyjuice as Angelina Johnson?"

"Pretty much."

"What? Because Millie wants Fred, not you?"

That wasn't it, but far be it for George to expose someone else's prank. He shrugged.

"But you…" Malfoy scratched the line of his jaw, as though trying to get his head around a baffling concept. "You actually want Millie? Like no prank, just something you want?"

George sighed. "It's an inexplicable dilemma, I'm sure…"

"Not really," said Malfoy. "Potter is an inexplicable dilemma. He is scarred in the face, and I think he's colour-blind. His clothes never match. Sometimes matching his own socks is too much of a challenge for him. It's infuriating. But I can't shake him. You and Millie are more evenly matched than me and Potter. It's not as though you're particularly good looking or smart."

George laughed. "Thanks, mate."

Malfoy looked disconcerted at the dry tone. "I'm trying to be supportive," he protested.

George suspected that he was being sincere. "You might want to work on your tact," he suggested. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

…

After breakfast, George really had intended to crawl into bed and sleep until the Yule Ball, but when he got back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry was sitting alone by the fire.

George walked over and dropped into the seat across from his. He passed the invisibility cloak and Marauder's Map back. "Thanks, mate."

Harry folded the cloak over the arm of the chair and tucked the map into his pocket. "What did you need them for?"

George waved a hand dismissively. "Just checking something. All good." He leant back in his chair, stifling a yawn. "Why are you all by yourself up here anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "Ron's off with Lavender Brown – trying to get a matching corsage or something. And Hermione's…" He broke off, frowning. "Have you noticed that Hermione's been acting bizarre lately?"

There were so many different ways to answer that. George could go for non-comital and stay out of the mess that was sure to follow. Or… He chewed his lower lip as he mulled over the matter. "She has been heading down to the Slytherin dungeons quite a lot," he said. "There's been a bit of gossip about that."

"The Slytherin dungeons?" Harry's face creased in puzzlement. He shook his head finally. "No. If Malfoy was up to something she'd tell me." He shook his head again, more vigorously. "She wouldn't _have_ to tell me. I'd _know_."

George rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think she suspects anyone of wrong-doing, mate. I think she's going for a significantly pleasanter reason, if you catch my drift."

Harry straightened in his chair, eyes wide. "She would _not_ be interested in Malfoy. She's not an idiot. And him? He's…"

"Charming?" suggested George. "Intelligent? Rich? Beautiful?" It was seriously bizarre that out of all the possible Slytherins, Harry would automatically think Hermione would want Draco Malfoy. George had been expecting to have to push Harry much harder to get him to that conclusion.

"He's dangerous," said Harry.

"I think that's probably as appealing as all the rest," said George. "Well, can't be helped."

Harry snorted. "Oh, yes it can. I'm going to…"

"What?" asked George. "What will you do that won't make Hermione ten times more determined to do just as she wants? No, you're going to have to let the whole thing play out. I can only see one other way around this."

"What's that?" asked Harry.

George shook his head. "Nothing that you would ever want to put yourself through."

Harry's chin came up, eyes hardening. "Try me."


	39. Chapter 39

Tracey and Daphne were helping Millicent peel Angelina Johnson's magically altered dress off when Draco walked in.

He yelped and covered his eyes. "Please make yourself decent. That is more Bulstrode flesh than I had hoped to see in my life."

Millicent ignored him, shrugging the sheath dress off and stepping out as the fabric pooled on the floor. "We're too busy to help you annoy Potter today," she said. "Try Nott or Goyle."

He chanced a peek through his fingers and wailed again. "Please, Millie. I need to talk to you. It's not about Potter."

"So talk." Millicent headed for her wardrobe and began flicking through her clothes.

Draco glanced from Tracey to Daphne. "Right. Your Weasley."

Millicent sighed. She didn't have time to deal with Draco's whining about her dating choices. She'd been up all night organising a pay-back prank for Fred Weasley. She needed to sleep and try to work out where she stood with George. "Yes. He's very buff. I like him a lot. There will be canoodling."

"But why Fred?" asked Draco. "That guy is a git. Why don't you give George a chance?"

Millicent frowned before turning to face Draco. "What game is this?"

Draco held up his hands in supplication. "No game. I'm genuinely concerned about your inability to choose the twin that isn't a wanker."

Millicent put her hands on her hips. "Is he bribing you?" That idea seemed more Slytherin than Gryffindor, but it would explain Malfoy's odd behaviour.

"Well, yes. But not about this. This is just…"

"Just what? Just you being selfless for a change? For a really big change? The kind of change that is so out of character that it makes me think you may be Polyjuiced right now?"

"Oh, Polyjuice?" Draco tilted his chin and stared down his nose at her. "George knows that you Polyjuiced as Angelina Johnson to make out with Fred. Did you know that?"

Millicent straightened. "He knows… How did he find that out?"

"That's not the point. The point is that he actually still likes you after all this. I mean, obviously his mental faculties need some assessment but really, Millie, give up on the dud twin before you lose the good one."

Before Millicent could reply, Harry Potter strode in.

"Malfoy, I need to speak to you." Potter was halfway across the room before he took his gaze off Draco long enough to take in Millicent's state of deshabille. He froze, his face a mask of shock before he buried it in his hands. "Oh my God. I am so sorry, Bulstrode." After an infinitesimal pause, he added, "Why aren't you dressed?"

"This is my dorm room," said Millicent icily. "I'm allowed to be undressed in my own dorm. The more pressing question is why are you in my dorm?"

"I have to talk to Malfoy." Potter's voice came out muffled by his hands but just as determined as ever.

Draco, who had already been looking as though he might faint with happiness, collapsed on Millicent's bed and stared at Potter.

"Er… have you put clothes on yet?" asked Potter.

"I won't be told what to wear in my own dorm," Millicent reiterated. "If it bothers you, you know where the door is." She was ridiculously curious about Potter's motive for being there, but she also knew him well enough to know that a half-naked girl wouldn't deter him any more than a troll, or a dragon, or a dementor, or the Dark Lord. If he wasn't so damn noble, he'd be scary.

"Right then." Potter chanced a peek through his fingers. Draco was reclining into the cushions of Millicent's bed. Potter focused in on him. "I know what you've been doing with Hermione."

Draco was really good at looking smug and knowing – even when he didn't know anything. He stretched out and smiled. "Oh drat. And here I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Nothing that you do will ever escape my notice." Potter's tone was as dark and menacing as a threat. Malfoy wriggled into Millicent's blankets, a smile of delight curling to his mouth.

Daphne chose that moment to shrug out of her robes. They pooled at her bare feet and she stepped out of them, smoothing the waistband of her seafoam-green knickers as she crossed to her dresser.

"Jesus!" exclaimed Potter. "What is this?"

"Our dorm," said Tracey dryly.

Daphne tossed her a black gossamer slip. "Try that one."

Tracey pulled her shirt over her head. She adjusted the straps of her strawberry bra before picking up the slip.

Potter shook his head and glared at Draco. "Who's your date to the Yule Ball?"

Draco blinked at him. "What business is that of yours?"

"You're right," snapped Potter. "It doesn't matter. Whoever she is, tell her that we're going on a pre-Yule Ball double date to Hogsmeade."

Draco's hands clenched in the bedclothes. "Excuse me?" he squeaked.

"I'm not having you around Hermione without me," said Potter. "You want to spend time with her you'll have to put up with me."

Before Draco could burst into tears of fiendish glee, Potter was stalking out of the room.

Daphne creased her nose at his retreating back. "I think it's official," she said.

Tracey grinned at Draco. "Three half-naked girls in the room and he didn't look up from you."

Malfoy looked thrilled. "Obviously he's enamoured of me."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Millicent. "All it means is that he's _not_ enamoured of girls. It doesn't make him enamoured of you."

"But he's gay," protested Draco.

Tracey laughed and nodded. "That boy is definitely gay."

"And I'm hot," said Draco.

"You're also kind of evil," said Daphne. "And that boy is more a vanquisher of evil than a lover of evil."

Malfoy drooped visibly. "I could try to be less evil."

When the Slytherin girls went through the list of fun things he wouldn't be able to do anymore, he changed his mind.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he declared. "Potter's the one who needs to change. Obviously. He was wearing a terracotta shirt with mustard pants! Merlin's wand, I'm perfect in comparison." He pushed himself off Millicent's bed and headed for the door, humming happily to himself.

Daphne smirked at Tracey. "I bet he's going to fondle the things in his Potter shrine."

Tracey made a sound of disgust and threw a pillow at Daphne's head. But she also laughed because it was so, so true.

Millicent picked Angelina's dress up and began to magic it smaller.

"So?" said Tracey.

When Millicent looked up from the fabric, Tracey raised her eyebrows.

"How are you going to handle your Weasley?"

"Why do I have to handle him? We're going to the Yule Ball. What else is there?"

Daphne huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes at Tracey.

"What?" asked Millicent.

"Seriously," said Daphne. "He knows you messed with his twin."

"So I have less stuff to explain to him. What's the issue?"

"Oh my God." Tracey threw herself back on her bed and buried her face in her hands. "You are so screwed. You're as bad as Pansy!"

Millicent glanced from one girl to the other, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Okay." Daphne sat on the bed across from Millicent and leant forward, bringing her hands together. "You are not good with the boys, so let me explain." She sucked her lower lip into her mouth as she mulled over the issue. "So guys are kind of mental. They have these jealousy issues, right? And that pride stuff."

Millicent shrugged. "I guess."

Daphne tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You literally told Fred Weasley that he was the one you wanted – with a witness standing by. And Merlin knows how, but George Weasley found out about it. That is going to screw with his head something crazy. You need to throw in some serious damage control."

Millicent was pretty sure that George's ego was a little more robust than Daphne or Tracey gave him credit for. "I think he'll be okay."

Tracey sat up on her bed. "We don't have to make you look bad, Mill."

Daphne's mouth quirked wryly. "With Astoria you could look pretty good tonight."

Millicent glanced across at Tracey. "Not wear the pig pink, you mean?"

Tracey flinched, but Daphne's eyes hardened. "It's a lot of humiliation for a guy to take in one day. He might have a sense of humour, but he's not used to the school staring at him with anything but admiration."

True. Millicent leant back on her hands. "You don't think he'll forgive me – if I go through with the prank?"

"I think you're an idiot if you choose a prank over someone you actually care about," said Daphne. "But that's just me."

Tracey stared at her lap.

Millicent stretched the kinks out of her spine. In a way they were right. She wouldn't choose a prank over any of her friends. Pansy might, but not Millicent. This was different. Not a test – not exactly. More of a disclosure. Pretence of beauty might work for some girls, but Millicent was never going to make a promise that she not only couldn't deliver, but that she didn't want to deliver. She drew a breath and shook her head at Daphne. "The prank always comes first, Greengrass."

Tracey lifted her head and smiled, eyes light with relief. Daphne flipped her blonde tresses over her shoulder in a silvery, cascading mass, her grin sharper and colder.

"Glad you're still with us, Bulstrode." Her voice was as hard as Tracey's smile was soft. That meant relief on her too.

If they were right and George cut his losses tonight, they wouldn't offer support. They had warned her, after all. But they were glad that she was choosing to be herself when she could choose him.

…

Daphne pinned a final brooch to Millicent's dress. She was wearing about twenty of the gaudy monstrosities. Had she been smaller they would probably topple her. Millicent was running on a mix of sludgy coffee and hasty Vigilo potions, but everything was done. Draco and Pansy had been readied and sent on their double date with less tears, tantrums and theatrics than Millicent had anticipated. Angelina's dress was back to its original size and hanging in her wardrobe.

Astoria was just finishing Millicent's make-up when Pansy walked in. She looked around the room and scowled. It didn't necessarily mean that she was angry, but something must have been bothering her.

"The Weasley's waiting in the entrance already," she admitted, sounding reluctant.

"It's time," Daphne pointed out.

"He looks good," Pansy blurted out.

Millicent turned in her seat to frown at her.

Pansy scraped a hand through her hair. "I mean, he's still a Weasley obviously so he still has that ghastly red hair and freckles on ninety percent of his body. But he's in dress robes – like reasonable ones. And he's done his hair. I mean, Merlin, he doesn't look like he's trying to hide from anyone. He doesn't look embarrassed."

Tracey glanced at Millicent. "You have those gorgeous green dress robes that your mother sent you," she said.

Not a suggestion to change herself. Just one to be herself – no make-up, no terrible bows, sashes or brooches.

"I really had my heart set on pig pink," said Millicent.


	40. Chapter 40

George was waiting at the bottom of the Gryffindor Tower staircase with a few of his friends when Millicent came up from the dungeons. She saw him before he saw her. Pansy was right; he was dressed as smartly as Fred was. With hands casually in his pockets he didn't look the least bit uneasy. Lee Jordan said something and he turned around. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the yards of pink ruffles, pound's worth of ugly brooches pinned to her front and the puce-coloured necklaces adorning her throat.

He smiled – like it was a joke and he got it. The brooches felt lighter suddenly.

She walked across to him.

Fred looked up, yelped sharply and skittered away.

George ran a hand through Millicent's hair, no doubt ruffling the bows that Tracey had painstakingly tied through it. "You look amazing." Laughter clung to the edge of his voice. Not as though he was laughing at her so much as at himself. She'd surprised him again, and he evidently liked it. "I haven't seen you out of make-up yet," he commented as the people around them began heading into the Great Hall with their partners. "I was kind of looking forward to it."

He held an elbow out to her and quirked an eyebrow, as though asking permission to walk her into the Great Hall.

She linked her arm through his and smirked at him. "I know that you know what's been going on," she said conversationally.

He bit back a grin, inclining his head into an almost imperceptible nod. "I have it on good authority that you also know what's been going on."

Millicent tossed her head. "Of course."

"And we're good?" asked George as they passed through the doors into the Great Hall.

"I am if you are," said Millicent.

George looked a little startled. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I did hit you that one time," Millicent reminded him.

"All things considered, I think that was justified," replied George.

"And I threw things at you," said Millicent.

"Also justified."

Millicent shrugged. "I canoodled with your twin."

George laughed. "He half-rubbed his skin off after that. And, just a heads up, I think Angelina's going to hex you inside out for touching her Yule Ball dress."

"Huh," said Millicent. "We are all good then." It was a bit of a surprise that things could be that simple. A relief though. Pansy and Draco's dramatics provided more than enough complication in Millicent's life.

He bent his head to press a kiss to her bare shoulder.

They did the things that Millicent would have insisted on had this been a prank. Danced badly, posed for ridiculous photos, and did everything else to freak the Hogwarts student body out. Every time she saw a sprig of mistletoe – and there were plenty to be seen – she squealed in delight and dragged George under it to snog him. Obviously George didn't scream the way that she'd initially planned. He laughed into her hair – the sound barely audible – and kissed her back, but told her that she was disgusting and there was a time and place and that ladies didn't snog in public. It made her laugh until she couldn't breathe. Pansy downed endless glasses of spiked punch as she watched them; as though she hoped the images could be wiped from her mind. Fred became steadily greener in his hiding place by the doors. The rest of the school looked faintly horrified and stopped talking every time Millicent and George went past.

"This is like the best," said Millicent. "I think we've scarred them. Possibly for life."

"You're also dancing with the most dashing man at the Ball," George pointed out mildly.

"I think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself calling yourself a man," said Millicent. "And really, Angelina got the cute twin."

George shook his head sadly. "You've many good points, Mill, but eyesight is not one of them."

She laughed. The boys closest to her put their hands over the top of their goblets and hurriedly moved away.

"Ew," said Millicent. "If I had Amortensia, as though I'd waste it on them."

The boys found a corner to huddle in. Half of them abandoned their drinks as though they really were afraid that Millicent would splash Amortensia into goblets with haphazard abandon.

George slung an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "I've a flask in my robe pocket if you want to spike the punch."

Millicent squealed and threw her arms around him. "You are divinity." She grazed her teeth lightly across the edge of his jaw and slid her hand into his pocket. Her fingers closed on the cold metal of the flask and she pulled away.

Her hair trailed through his fingers until she turned and headed for the drinks table.

Justin Finch-Fletchley gawped at her as she splashed whatever liquid was in the flask into the punch-bowl.

She smiled and held the flask out. "Would you like some?"

He squealed like a garden gnome and bolted for the safety of the closest group of boys. It really was the best night ever. Millicent hummed as she made her way back to George.

"I think you've broken them." He sounded languidly amused by the whole situation.

"Hn." Millicent plucked one of her brooches off and stuck it to George's dress-robes. "Not that it takes much." She glanced up at him, eyes glinting with cruel delight. "We should score them based on how traumatised they get."

George moved his arm so that she could pin more brooches to him. "And do what with the score?"

Millicent didn't hesitate. "Offer the winner a threesome."

George snorted with laughter. After gasping for breath a few moments, he gave up and leaned his head against Millicent's shoulder. "You're too much, Mill."

"Or you're not enough," said Millicent.

He ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, what next?"

A murmur ran through the Hall.

Millicent turned her head as Colin Creevey walked through the door with Moaning Myrtle.

"Huh," she said. "I think we're done."

George's head shot up. He glanced from Creevey to Myrtle and back to Millicent. "You don't think we can out-creep Creevey?" He sounded as though he had lost all faith in her.

She laughed, shaking her head. "I know when I'm beaten."

George threw his hands up. "They haven't done anything yet. He'll probably just have a lovely night with his ghost girlfriend. We've totally got this."

Millicent patted his cheek. "Oh, my naive little Weasley."

"There she is!" Creevey reached for Myrtle's hand. His fingers passed through hers. With his free hand, he waved to Susan Bones.

She looked worried, but was too much of a Hufflepuff to run screaming or hex him. Both perfectly logical options.

Millicent leaned back into the warmth of George, grinning.

He wrapped an arm around her. "So Creevey wants to introduce his ghost girlfriend to a friend. He's proud of her. That's nice, right?"

Millicent snorted.

"See, Myrtle? Susan will definitely let you use her body for the night. She's such a good friend."

Susan stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide with horror. Stupid Hufflepuff. She should have hexed or fled. Creeveys never, never deserved the benefit of the doubt.

Completely oblivious to Susan Bones' shock, Creevey hurried to explain the logistics of body-sharing with a ghost to her. "It wouldn't matter about the touching," he concluded, casting Myrtle a yearning look. "But it's the only way to consummate our love, you see?"

Millicent turned her head to raise her eyebrows at George.

He shuddered. "Yup. We're beat."

"Thank Merlin," said Millicent. "I'm exhausted."

George yawned. "Yeah." He sounded surprised.

She rolled her shoulder, pressing into him a little more firmly. "I'll walk you back to your dorm."

They didn't make it that far. On the seventh floor, they practically fell through a doorway that Millicent had never seen before.

Rubbing sleep out of one eye, she looked around drowsily. Cushions. A whole room of pillows and throw-rugs. The floor was springy, but it was hard to tell why with the pillows piled so high.

George flopped into the cushions with a sigh of relief. When Millicent didn't follow suit, he threw a stuffed hippogriff at her head. "Room of Requirement," he said, in answer to her baffled expression.

She had no idea what that meant but he seemed to know this weird place so she dropped down alongside him. She couldn't be bothered to ask what sort of nutjob created a room full of pillows. Right now, it seemed the most sensible thing in the world.

George rummaged in his pocket and came up with the flask. He offered it to Millicent.

She took a swig. It burned all the way down and she passed the flask back, coughing. "Merlin, that's nasty."

He smirked at her and took a sip, swallowing without difficulty. "I forgot you were delicate."

There was nothing hard to throw at his head. Millicent settled for a bolster cushion. It bounced off his skull without making a satisfying thunking sound. "Most people don't raid Madam Pomfrey's rubbing alcohol stash when they want to get sloshed."

George took another swig. "I should have considered your sensitive constitution," he agreed. "Next time it will be Blishen's Cinnamon Firewhiskey aged in a goblin-crafted barrel for three hundred years and treated with the tears of an aristocratic phoenix…"

There was still nothing hard to throw. Millicent tugged off one of her brooches and pegged it at his head.

He swatted the bauble aside with those Beater reflexes.

Millicent held a hand out for the flask. "I hope you know that I'm going to torture Fred mercilessly."

Tossing the flask to her, George snorted. "If he can't recognise a joke, he deserves it."

Millicent glanced sideways at him, mouth tugging into a grin.

He raised an eyebrow in question.

She drained the flask in one long drag. "You know that if I tease Fred, the rest of the school will think that I'm trying to cheat on you, right?'

He made a derisive sound. "If I can't take a joke then I deserve it."

She tossed the flask aside and launched herself at him. He had time for a surprised huff of laughter before they both collapsed into the cushions. His arms were around her, one hand tangling in her hair. She kissed him. With teeth and lips and tongue. She wasn't shy, and she hated waiting. But he didn't shock easy; merely hummed, as though the teeth and her hand pushing under his shirt were interesting developments.

She grinned into his mouth, gentling the kiss.

He laced his fingers together in the small of her back and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her mouth. "I'm an amazing boyfriend." He sounded smugly satisfied.

Millicent burst into laughter and whacked him with a pillow. "Please. You're adequate."

Shooting her a sharp grin, he ran a hand through his mussed hair. "If I was adequate I would have pointed out that the school will think you're too dumb to recognise your boyfriend, not that they'll think you're trying to cheat."

She choked in outrage. "If you were amazing, you would have asked Susan Bones to lend me her body for the night."

He buried his face in his hands. "Merlin, Mill. That was disturbing enough when it happened. Please never mention it again."

"Do you think Bones was persuaded?" asked Millicent, mouth twisting into a wicked smirk. "Hufflepuffs do love to help. And Creevey needs all the help he can…"

George clouted her with a pillow. So hard that it threw her into another pile of cushions, sending up a puff of goose-down.

Laughing, she reached out to snag the collar of his robes and pull him down to her.


	41. Chapter 41

George woke before Millicent. It was still early so he left her sleep as he went to change. Grabbing a spare set of robes, he headed back for the Room of Requirement.

Mill was still asleep. George tossed the spare robes at her. She whined and turned over.

"We're late."

She cracked one eyelid, sleepily.

"You want breakfast?"

Eyes brightening, she sat up. The robes pooled in her lap. Lifting them, she stretched the fabric out.

"Put them on," said George. "Let's go."

She held her hands out. He took them and pulled her to her feet. Her makeup had smeared in the night and she kind of looked like a watercolour clown. George leant forward to kiss the tip of her nose.

She slipped her arms through the robe sleeves. Catching the lapels, he drew her closer and concentrated on buttoning the garment over her dress. Pushing up onto her toes, she pressed a quick, hard kiss to his mouth. He jerked back in surprise and she laughed, doing the rest of the buttons up herself.

They reached the Great Hall. At the Slytherin table, Hermione stroked a hand through Parkinson's messy hair. Elbows on the table, Malfoy watched them with a scowl of annoyance. Right. The stalking Potter plan would be screwed once Harry realised that Hermione wanted Parkinson, not Malfoy.

Mill tilted her head at George. "Your table? Mine?"

George glanced from one to the other. Either worked. He didn't really care. But… There was something kind of forlorn about Malfoy's glare. He slipped an arm around Mill's waist. "You're kidding, right? There's no way I'm trusting you within ten paces of my brother."

She smirked at him. "Good call. He has all those hormones. I'm powerless to resist."

Mill headed further up the table to sit with Greengrass and Davis. George sat next to Malfoy.

"Two years' worth of Christmases, Easters, New Years'," said George. "That still puts you ahead, right?"

Glare dimming, Malfoy turned away from Parkinson and Hermione. "Do I have you to thank for the double date with Potter last night?"

George shrugged. "Did it go okay?"

"He threatened to hex me," said Malfoy. "Then Parkinson and Granger left us alone and he tried to hex me."

That sounded like a pretty awful date – but Malfoy was a Slytherin. "You had a good time then?" asked George.

Malfoy looked put out and worried all at once. "What do I owe you?"

George snorted. "Consider it a freebie. I already have what I want."

Malfoy glanced up the table at where Mill was sitting. "You're wearing her lipstick," he pointed out.

"It feels bizarre," agreed George, reaching for a pastry. "Doesn't taste like much though. I kind of expected it to be cherry flavoured or something."

Malfoy's brow furrowed, as though he was at a loss as to how to continue the discussion. "Kissing girls is gross," he finally said.

George shrugged. "I'd say that kissing boys is gross, but honestly I don't think I'd mind it."

Malfoy nodded. "Then you are not entirely lacking in good taste."

George quirked a smile at him. "How was your date? Really? It can't all have been hexes and fury."

Malfoy's mouth twisted. A little too nervous to be a smile but not a grimace either. "We talked about Quidditch a bit."

"Huh." That didn't sound the slightest bit romantic. George thumped Malfoy on the back. "Better luck at Christmas, mate."

Malfoy shrugged George's hand off. "I don't need luck. I'm devastatingly good-looking."

"You know that Harry wears glasses, right? Has worn them his whole time here. That hasn't escaped your notice?" George leant back on the bench. "I think he's pretty much legally blind without them, so…"

"Shut up," said Malfoy with a vicious scowl. "I get your point."

George smirked at him. "Maybe you're going to actually have to be nice to him?"

Malfoy gave a bark of laughter. "As if. I'm also filthy rich, you know. Speaking of…" He thrust a hand into his pocket and rummaged around. "Ah." Pulling it out, he slapped the stone he'd stolen from Harry's room onto the table. "You can put it back. I don't need it."

George raised his eyebrows. Maybe being closer to Harry for the length of one dinner had changed something. "Having second thoughts about him after that double date?"

Malfoy snorted. "He has nothing but that pathetic stone. And I have many stones. All of them more valuable than his. Really, what would I do with it? It would look ridiculous beside the Malfoy emeralds."

Sucking his lower lip, George watched Malfoy's fingers stroke the edges of the stone. As he reached for it, Malfoy's hand tightened. "Uh…You can let it go now, Malfoy."

Making a face, Malfoy flicked the stone toward George. "Alright." He stood up and smoothed his robes. "It's probably left filth all through my pockets. I'm going to have to have my robes cleaned now."

George grinned at him. "You didn't want Harry to miss it when he packed to go home for the holidays?"

"Obviously, I don't care," said Malfoy. "And if you'd stop being patently ridiculous, you'd notice that your girlfriend is once again trying it on with your brother."

George glanced over his shoulder. Mill was indeed making a bee-line for Fred. He grinned and shoved away from the table, rising to follow her.

"- obviously, it's commendable that you won't dump your current girlfriend for me," she was telling Fred as he approached, leaning lightly on his arm as he tried to back over the Gryffindor table. "But don't worry. I'll stay with George until you're free. And then I'm yours."

Fred's gaze darted around, searching frantically for an escape route. He locked eyes with George. "Did you hear?" His voice was shrill with panic. "Please tell me you heard that?"

George hummed agreement and swept Millicent's hair over her shoulder. He pressed a long kiss to the curve of her neck. "I guess I have some competition." Lifting his head, he grinned at Fred and held out a hand. "May the best twin win, mate?"

Fred made a sound of hurt betrayal, flailed out of Millicent's grasp and crawled across the Gryffindor table to freedom.

George pressed his mouth to Millicent's nape to drown the laugh that was bubbling up. Christmases at the Burrow could never be called dull; but between Malfoy and Mill, this Christmas was sure to be a special kind of crazy.


End file.
